August 2016

I wish I had names for all the filmy-winged insects that appear like spirits when the light is strong and the shadows behind them are deep.

Cool and quiet. A ray of sun pierces the forest canopy and falls on a clump of goldenrod in the meadow that’s just beginning to turn gold.

Sunny and cool. Blowflies, hover flies and paper wasps takes turns landing on my bare arms; the wasps have by far the silkiest touch.