bees and squirrels are probing, leaves are leaping

squeal of a departing car blends perfectly with metallic chirping

leaves the color of red grapes

the movement of bricks within wooden striped façades

walked to a different part of the park creek, one I hadn’t known about until recently. it’s more nature immersive, water trickles over a small height, birds pitter pattering over a lustrous carpet of cricket sound

still more leaves on the branches than on the ground, yellow ovals and perfectly green ones that seem to have gone too soon

crickets like the rhythm of sleigh bells

the last clouds of daylight are still white above the % trees

crickets like maraca shakes

crickets in with foreground chirp, so sweet

silver clouds like the remnants of giant fireworks

the tires that look like plant prints, into the tunnel where the leaves crunch dramatically underfoot

walking home from the market at night, the surf sounds of the cars subsiding

leaves rustle like shells on a curtain

black willow

accent lights shooting up white stucco before being blocked by a %, the top of the building dark and stately

a mystery could happen on this stretch: two unofficial detectives, separated by a hundred feet. one peels back some punky vegetation and the other is examining the latch of a fence

examining the tip of a fence

something has happened and they walk within the crickets maracas, the call and response, the autumn night

a nun walks along the wall, the granite glittering by streetlight

varying levels of expectation: private investigators like above, an encyclopedist compiling observations, a child walking within outsized shadows, their own

a sash hangs in the window. a white cloud of night above

too symbolic that the bus, a shuttle replacement for a line I used to take just went past. those fluorescent lights you only saw when you were exhausted from work. I can move laterally, float around, planes overhead

faded hydrangeas sway