The song of the cicadas swells upon me,
Beating wings drum louder and louder
And then drift off into the tree branches,
As if off to serenade the heavens.
Caw caw caw squawk the black birds
As they circle the tree tops,
And the croak of the tiny frogs
Are barely heard in the surrounding rush.
The same warm breeze that tickles my skin
Sways the oak leaves to and fro,
A tease in the breeze. A shimmer, a shake,
A dance through the tall pines,
And it is done.
As the sun seeps into the west,
The cloak of twilight drapes
Itself across my shoulders.
Feeling like a part of the process,
I take comfort in slow shifts.
One by one. They quietly emerge.
Some brightly stand watch
While others flicker and sway
To the song of the cicadas.