The sliding door is open, letting in the cool breeze. I pull a cotton hoodie over my head and yawn into the silence…a time to write perhaps. The world is in an uproar about the virus, about racial oppression, violence, hate, fear, poverty, injustice … … and I am tired this morning, bruised from a fall in the garden and dulled by a list of things to do jamming inside my head.
on the window screen
are you injured or
until you fly?
P.S. I believe my visitor was a Cecropia moth, a type of giant silk moth.