Summer is in the air. We Floridians all are victim to its golden kiss. Golden not just from the sun but also from all the excess pollen. Everything is dancing too — either it’s the scorching concrete against tender feet or the libidinous dusting of thousands, if not millions, of plants.
Sometime after a flood of rain,
a brown cascade of small live things
moves through the damp grass, across
the steaming sidewalk in front of shadows.
Crickets? Tiny brown grasshoppers?
Just an endless cloud of frogs, small
as dimes, numerous as pennies
pitched away on a gamble.
Later an ibis wedge sprawls two-
lanes wide. A lone bird, self-
appointed pathfinder, stands point
while cars and fowl puddle midlane.
Overhead, a dazzle of zebra
butterflies swarm rain-drunk blooms:
buttercups, a prism of coneflowers.
A lone moth, brazen dare in daylight,
selects a regal floral perch.
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