Hace Fresca

A thin sliver of moon must be rising behind those clouds, the sun at its heels. The birds have joined the crickets in a morning song. It's all chirpy out there. It has cooled enough that Sluggo is good for as much as forty minutes! I regret hat the heat will soon return. For the moment, it's pleasant to stand in the fresh morning, breathing the damp, grass-scented air. There was no thunderstorm, alas -- no rain of any kind. But there is dew, as fresh as the flowers it adorns and the deep colors they show in the new light. And, yes, the crane fly was released into the big world. It's out there somewhere now, flitting about contentedly or filling the belly of a satisfied bird. So it goes.

Dusk

The clouds turned cirrus today, for the first time in ages. A few of them are still floating over the house now, feathery and pale in the evening sky. For a while, there was a lark nearby, singing about the sunset, but now there are only the crickets, and a dog barking in the distance. The neighbors have their lawn sprinkler going, and the evaporation is cooling the air nicely. The mist drifts across my yard, intensifying the scent of all the plants. Now that the bees have ceased their buzzing about for the night, and the heat is diminished, it is a good time to sit under the tree and listen to the gathering quiet. A few cars still pass on the road beyond the pines, but each, as it vanishes, leaves a deeper calm behind it. Dusk sweeps away the busy noises of day and its details. The darkening houses settle toward sleep, and night will waken with starlight, soft footfalls, and the flutter of bat's wings.