Cicadas, and the birds that hunt them.
A neighbor’s lawnmower.
The whisper of the maple leaves in a cool morning breeze.
A dog, barking for show somewhere over there.
A catch in the air, ever so faint, a momentary pause.
News of the first real cold front coming down out of Canada.
The fat rump of late summer has settled in, humid and hot.
But if you listen,
You feel the breezes more,
Everything moves on,
Only a fool would have lived his life in hard pursuits
Without realizing that all those moments, like this fleeting one,
Only come once and are gone, as surely as heavy ol’ Summer
Will rise one day soon and move on south, making room
For other precious and holy moments that need attention.
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