The dog lies panting in the sun. A magpie’s rattle draws my gaze to a tree laden with green apples, just 50 feet away in a stranger’s yard.
The whole garden has acquired an aura of sadness from one bedraggled, discarded dog toy. The sun finds a spiderweb full of fallen petals.
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.
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.
Cold, with the faintest shimmer of precipitation. A blackbird’s metallic scold-calls. Across the way, a dog howls to be let inside.