Bees dream in the Joe Pye Weed, dangling upside down before the sun warms them into awakening. They sleep beneath leaves of Aronia and Squash.
Strange squashes bloom behind the compost bin.
Tiny bright bugs sun their wings in the milkweed.
The silence of the pre-human world burns up in the sunlight. Alarm clocks and cars destroy the magic fog of morning.
Before the devastation, the voices of squirrels, insects and crows call out in a language not meant for my ears. I listen and spy on them, and watch a hawk eat a rabbit in a tree.