The rose in bloom, the
clematis has opened her ninth throat to sing purple, new campion rose
and blue jacobs ladder flowering as the purple penstamon —
its last days on the horizon — are dropping rounded flowers when the
bee asks too much...
There are seven swallows, no longer just four as the mates raised their hatch, and they teach them the wonderful dance of dusk. Night hawk begins calling, echos of hunt, upon winds invisible that sound haunts then whoosh like a wind tunnel when the drop for the prey ... ah dusk.
I shall tip my glass of colorado and garden in the pines to all my dear friends who visit here.
©2005.16.11 lisbeth west