A day for being quiet and noticing things:

A mother racoon and three babies, waddling away from us at the pond, and climbing high into an oak tree to peer at us from the place where the trunk split into a Y.

Wind coming with clouds over the sun.

The sound of hungry fish coming in multitudes to devour bread cast upon the waters of the pond.

A huge grasshopper crawling on a window-screen.

Gravel crunch under flip-flops.

Birdless feathers, the remnant of some feast.

Tiny foam from a small spoonful of sugar in a cup of hot tea.

A turtle in the mud.

Constant cicadas, even audible inside, with the air conditioner running.

In different corners of the world people celebrate and grieve; yet here am I, awake too late, and simply quiet, noticing things.

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