Edge

During these days

The dog days

Of humidity,

Of August,

Of Summer

I stand outside and hear the

Crickets.

Occasionally the cicadas still sing

But thick air

Suffocates

Everything but the

Crickets.

Summers close

Autumns wake

Leaves yellow and scorch

Under the heat of the summer sun.

It takes effort to breathe.

It is no wonder

The birds

the leave the singing

To the

Crickets. 

Drinking

Look closely at this Sulfur's proboscis and how it drinks the nectar from the Mexican Sunflower.  

That must be the most divine flavor there ever was.

...Oh to be a butterfly and be carried on the wind drinking divine nectar...