A bird sang outside my window, the first in months. It wasn't the robin, nor a crow; it was a new harbinger of day. Last night, perfectly clear, stars growing brighter, more numerously apparent as the moon dropped lower in the dark, western sky; this morning heavy fog and mist. It still hasn't cleared.
Yesterday, took a short-cut through the Fill. It was hot, air full of dragonflies, sometimes a hummingbird, but the swallows seem to have left for the season. The dominant sound was high insect buzz in the grasses: hot, noisy chatter. It felt ancient. Primordial. A stirring up of a new energy, a new voice. Change will come.
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