the movement of water in springtime. late, almost summer. daylight lingers farther into the night and there are once again owls in the trees. my mother's cat has claimed a spot on the rock wall next to the creek and embraces the warm darkness. home. i catch my second wind after midnight, bumping into sleepiness. a white moth flies through the open door, bumping into walls, a frantic flutter against a black lampshade. silence, and then a slowing flitter behind me. silence again. last night it was a black moth, and yesterday a butterfly caught by the cat.
these are the stories i know.
bits of sweetness.
the sound of crickets,
the trees overhanging the creek.
honeysuckle and pears a step outside my door.
east texas juju.
beware this coming summer.