...Drifting this way and that/ Not touching ground at all/ Up above the yard....
For a second day, we have beautiful late September weather; odd, that: it's early August.
After errands, I treat myself to a 7-11 coffee whose sacred mission is to adorn my clothing. Yet another argument for black.
The sun turns overly friendly as I sit in a lawn chair, becomes an anxious lover; my clothes are excessive. What's handy? Hawk's sweatshorts and a collection of strings posing as bikini top. I spend a lovely hour as mosquito bait.
My yard, run amok since the theft of our lawn mower, has turned into a wildlife preserve. The birds and (I presume) bats can't keep up with the insect population. I should release a herd of toads. RJ-Next-Door asks when I'd like him to cut the grass. Now is good. I track down and remove bits of plastic that once were toys.
Nearly finished, I dodge a largeish flying thing, flinching before it reveals its nature: Butterfly, splendid in black and purple iridescence.
I am transfixed as it flutters away behind a tree that early this spring was a weed.
(And She Was; Talking Heads)