The valley holds its breath in the midday heat, life retreating to the fringes of dawn and dusk.
Noon belongs to the insects, their cold blood singing in the hot sun. Dragonflies, iridescent arrows, pierce clouds of gnats hovering over the stream’s mirror. Hornets, relentless architects, scout for the perfect eave. Flies orbit your head, patient as vultures. Beyond the buzzing insect chorus, only the distant growl of lawnmowers and the contented croak of frogs, luxuriating in cool mud, break the silence.
Lavender bushes by the door pulse with life: hundreds of bumblebees and delicate white cabbage butterflies at blissful work. Their wings catch sunlight as they flit from blossom to purple blossom.
As twilight softens the day’s harsh edges, I venture out. My wheelchair parts the overgrown lavender on the ramp, releasing a cloud of startled bees and a flurry of butterflies. The crushed stalks under my tires fill the humid air with its soapy perfume.
The valley exhales as the sun dips. A chorus of birds cheers the cooling breeze. Deer emerge, doe and dappled fawns, to feast on clover alongside twilight-breakfasting rabbits. Birdsong rises from the valley floor as feathered bathers splash in the stream, washing away the day’s dust.
The sky, painted in fading gold, still belongs to the swallows. But in the deepening shadows, bats stir on their upside-down perches, preparing for their nightly dance.
As darkness gathers, robins and persistent bumblebees reluctantly yield the stage and fireflies rise from the sheltering thicket. Flickers of light spread across the lawn and to the bushes along the forest trail—earthbound stars beneath a still-pale sky.
One Response
Thankyou so much 🩷