rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


Lavender evening arrives, and the sourgrass flowers begin their daily closure. The yellowjackets who spent the afternoon circling mere inches above the lawn depart. A single blue jay perches on the telephone line, bobbing its head. At treetop height, a hummingbird darts, stops, darts, repeatedly, flying in and out of the last rays of sunlight. Suspended between day and night, the forest hesitates. A moment comes which is like a pause in a conversation. The hummingbird beats its wings to arrive at stillness, and everything else is stilled as well. The bird then drops earthward, swooping at the last moment, and vanishes among the mulberry leaves. The jay squawks once and follows. The color drains from the sky, the first star appears, and the serenity is broken by the sudden chirring of a katydid. For a moment it seemed as though a door had been opened and anyone might have passed through. Then there is a soft breeze. Leaves whisper, and ordinary night begins.

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