Overcast

This is not a nothing day.

The pines are whistling,
cypress trunks squeaking in the wind, 
cicadas have started to sing.
Two fantails just tore right by me, unafraid, 
undeterred by my clicking camera, 
ignoring me and my pen.

The cat was already out here, 
as if she knew I’d be coming.
Who can resist a brewing storm? 
Here too, 
the dragonfly looking for a mate, 
bumblebees courting clover, 
passing by plants 
discarded and forgotten— 
crocosmia, blue salvia, 
a lump of unruly lonicera.

The blackberry, nearly ripe, 
scents the thickening air.
Goldenrod feeds the cinnabar moth,
and now
I have found where the deer sleep.
Under the leaden sky 
I follow the chewed ends of grass
along the fenceline
into the neighbouring field.

I’m an animal now,
ignoring boundaries,
tracking, smelling my way
hungry for connection
while above me
the air becomes
grey blankets.

This is not a nothing day.