First of July, and the summer is merry, here, in the heaves and hollows of the heating mountains.
Our story is about coloring, the illuminations of a toddling morning.
A jay jets and jars the yard, ferrying food for the births and thriving.
Evergreens graze the drafts and orbits.
My wife finds a black widow spider bulbous under a dusty fountain she righted to spritz.
I trap it, take it away, flick it at a nook of red rock back of the biding fire station.
Her legs are eight lines; she stays within.
new paper lanterns in the garden