Dave Bonta

Out around 9:00, in time to hear the dog-day cicadas start up. If it weren’t for cicadas, how would we know what the sun sounds like?

A horse fly—rare visitor—rides my parents’ car down the road, then follows me onto the porch. It takes two flyswatter blows to do her in.

Overcast and cool. Two birds of indeterminate species trade high-pitched chirps in the treetops, continuing for hours. A few crickets.