Lying In the Sun On a Warm Day

The roosters are in full glory crowing mode today. Some dogs are challenging them now. Between the barks and the ruffs and the coos and the caws it is difficult to hear the traffic on the interstate. An orange butterfly breezes down, seemingly from a tall oak tree. The flutter of this insect brings my eyes to the sky. A jet plane makes barely a noise as they dash past. People on the way to somewhere. I am lying on my back in the grass looking up at twinkling leaves. A hawk flies purposefully past me a few times. Measuring me for supper? Sizing me up, to figure out whether or not she can take me home to her hawklets? They would have a big feast if she could lift me. She makes two or three more passes. If she was a turkey buzzard I would have been a bit more worried. I look at the dog. She was groomed yesterday. Today she looks like the wild child of Borneo; there are bits of straw or leaves all over her coat that looked super velvety and shiny when we came out here. The tiniest ant I have ever met came over to see what I was writing. She pranced around on the edge of my notebook. Maybe she is a reader ant. Maybe my words make sense to her. I ponder this and smile, lying in the sun, on a warm day, listening to the roosters and the dogs.