the wheat fields are filled with gossips, field mice anxious over the harvest, scamper, speak a tiny language only my dog hears; the ants sip on stalks as if they are straws, stop long enough to imply the field mice, one in particular, are a nuisance; a skunk, scampers in off the road, chews on his toenails, mutters over the chits caught in his coat; three Truearmy Worm moths lie idle, discussing their displeasure at comparison with butterflies; a hawk, bedded on a thermal, wings in full spread, swoops past and all, for the moment, are silent.
Posted on: Thu, 15 Aug 2013 18:29:21 +0000
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