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Getting rough out here.
The cicadas of late summer are silent.
Their crisp skins, strewn around
mixed with acorns,
lifeless leaves.
My path is crossed by doomed survivors
- old bees getting a final buzz off of their chests
- limping crickets fooled by mid-day sun
- crazy drunken flies in kamikaze loops
The praying mantis I spy
poised on a fire escape downtown
has no religion.
And the green katydid
flying toward me
with impossible wings
is unnerving
These squirrels are way ahead of me.
Summer was just a dream
and they knew it.
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create evolution
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