summer_solstice ovenbird There's hardly enough dark for dreams, just a shallow skim of moonlight teasing a tired mind. The coyotes are wild in the bog lands, hunting mice among the cattails and selling shivers to the highest bidder on nights when the ground won't surrender its heat. We are rich in yarrow but poor in rain and these cracked earth days go on forever, or so it seems, tasting of yearning and the year's first blackberries, tart on the tongue and striving, always, towards the sweetest release. 250620 what's it to you? who go blather from