A thin sliver of moon must be rising behind those clouds, the sun at its heels. The birds have joined the crickets in a morning song. It's all chirpy out there. It has cooled enough that Sluggo is good for as much as forty minutes! I regret hat the heat will soon return. For the moment, it's pleasant to stand in the fresh morning, breathing the damp, grass-scented air. There was no thunderstorm, alas -- no rain of any kind. But there is dew, as fresh as the flowers it adorns and the deep colors they show in the new light. And, yes, the crane fly was released into the big world. It's out there somewhere now, flitting about contentedly or filling the belly of a satisfied bird. So it goes.