petals are falling from the blossoms on the trees in the forest behind the house. they drift slowly down, steadily, through the leaves, from shadow to sunlight and back again, and make a white carpet on the ground where they come to rest. as they have for centuries.

up in the trees the birds chatter and squawk, celebrating the bumper crop of cicadas this year, fat bird families singing their songs and patrolling their territory, making fences out of music. this year no different from any other.

down on the ground, the vines stretch their tendrils towards the tree trunks, reaching outward, upward, trunkward, grasping at a hold, any hold that helps them towards their sunlit goal. as they have for centuries.

and the moon waxes and wanes, looking here and away, steady in her dance steps, as she has since before she can remember. as she will long after we are dust.

and down in the mailbox, the postman daily brings bills, neat folded rectangles, printed with columns of numbers, all aligned in careful tables. as he will....and squirting the flowers with cool mist

back to reality.....