Too tired to write yet the words
want to come.
Words to capture August's breezes,
and her heady scent,
tiger swallowtails on purple phlox,
and ruby throats-chasing the house finches
pecking holes
in the ripening apples.
Words to paint blue dragonflies
over the pond,
and goldenrod in the fields,
amber meadow grasses waving,
and the buzzing of cicadas
and the bees.
Lazy August morning,
waiting for storms
and listening to what the land
has to say.
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