rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Noon's knife-sharp shadows blur bit by bit as an overcast forms and the day passes to an evening of burnished slate. Sultry air, smelling of dinners and grass and jasmine, is streaked with drifting strands of spider silk, and vibrates with an insectoid buzz. A thrush sings and a pair of crows call from tree to tree. Underfoot the gravel crunches as I walk. I'm going nowhere but around again and again. The last bumblebee departs the fading roses, but evening still buzzes, a dizzying cadence set by dozens of chirping crickets. The jasmine hedge looks more white than green as I approach, but I know this to be a trick of the fading light. Nearing, I see the individual flowers spread to welcome night, just when the golden poppies and the purple sourgrass blossoms have closed.

Dusk has gathered and with it all my thoughts delve the darkened recesses day's end brings. Soon bats will be released, and these buzzing insects should beware. The night world is a perilous place in which to be at large. But then I recall that however many bats arrive they can never eat all the insects, and therefore I too should beware. The evening is warm and the mosquitoes numerous. The sound of their buzzing is alone enough to make me suffer phantom itching. I reluctantly go indoors to watch from windows the remainder of the day's fade to black.

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