Flown

I hear wind in the canyon, but here the night air remains still. This afternoon I saw small flies— not house flies, but a smaller, less robust sort, who usually arrive in spring. One is now lying dead in the sink on the back porch. I think they only live a day or two, anyway. The fly had no idea it was here out of season. It hatched into a mild world, and lived its brief life in a pleasant atmosphere. Maybe it left eggs somewhere, to hatch when the real spring arrives. But how it darted and whirled while the sunny afternoon passed! And here I am listening to the unfelt night wind.

( Sunday Verse )