The lawn is sun-drenched on this august morning when three-digit temperatures are forecast for later. Across the way a neighbor arranges a single pink rose with three spikes of something blue in a thin tall vase for her patio table. A hospice caregiver on her way to an elder a few doors down stops at my overgrown sage, takes out her phone to record a large black bee and a small striped brown honeybee burying their snouts for the nectar. Our resident crow family is elsewhere, and the air is quiet, no leaflet stirs, as if waiting; it is the beautiful kind of stillness that graces as well as warns.
© Vilma Olsvary Ginzberg, 08-14-2020