The whole garden has acquired an aura of sadness from one bedraggled, discarded dog toy. The sun finds a spiderweb full of fallen petals.
In the wild back corner of the garden, two cabbage whites fight over the flowering brambles. A dunnock forages in the dirt under the feeder.
The elder sheds a gray feather. How can such a small tree harbor so many secrets? From a neighborhood dog, the uncanny howl of a wolf.
Seven snails are spending the day disguised as burls on the mock orange. A feral cat sneaks in atop the wall, but the terrier is on patrol.
Hoverfly in the garden defending a cubic foot of air; someone practicing guitar in another garden—the lives I see versus lives I understand.
Between brief sallies, a damselfly hides on sunlit leaves, its eyes just protruding over the edge but its position given away by its shadow.
The dog and her entourage of flies. In the deep shade beside the wall, one clump of myrtle leaves is pure white, like a school of cave fish.
A huge contrail X moves slowly toward the south. The dog sleeps in a patch of sun, deaf to a magpie scolding from the wall.
A cat watches me from the depths of the mock orange tree. The birds are elsewhere, and silent, having begun singing around 4:00 a.m.
Spider mites zoom around the table, cartoonish as creatures in an old-fashioned video game. A helicopter crosses the sky’s one patch of blue.