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C.W. Hawes

Summer

The old man sits quietly puffing on his pipe and listens to the crickets chirp. The sun is hot, but he sits in the shade on the deck and enjoys the cool breeze. By his side the dog lies, panting; grey hairs competing with the black. For a long time he sits and there is only the breeze in the trees, the chirping of the crickets, the panting of the dog, and the quietness of his sitting.

day after day
the hemerocallis
blossoms