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Nearby, in a patch of short prickly faded brown grass,
crickets chirp, black ants file home and praying mantises do battle.
On long thin, green stems, light purple thistles, goldenrods, and Queen
Anne's lace flutter like butterflies in the breeze. A yellow and black
bumblebee flies into a goldenrod head to collect pollen.
At the foot of the hill, a path winds its way
through a grove of towering poplar trees. Along the path, a filthy
plastic bag tumbles. . . aimless, lost. A fluffy jet black squirrel stuffs
an acorn into his mouth and sprints up a peeling tree trunk. Chipping
and piping joyfully, a chickadee flits from a drooping branch,
The uppermost branches of the poplar trees
reach up to tickle the sky. To the north, clouds, like wispy grey-white
tractor tracks, define the sapphire horizon. A lone gull squawks and soars.
Fall is on its way; soon it will be here.
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