My attention was captured by the catbird splashing in the birdbath underneath the old apple tree,
and moved to the ruby-throat stealing from spider webs strung between branches,
and on to the Carolina and house wrens busily chattering congenially as they plucked miniscule insects from the underside of leaves and twigs.
Bumblebees, lazily awakened from their slumber on the cleome,
fed on phlox and cardinal flower
and anise hyssop.
Hummingbird moths sipped from the monarda,
while green frogs in the pond and blue jays in the Norway spruce
beat out a staccato rhythm in their high and low pitches,
the percussive melody of non-human hymns.
All is worship on this strange, still and hazy morning.
