Her songs assail first light. Fluent, they flourish among the rooftops and chimneys, unsettle early morning sleep. Pausing among night’s tangle of sheets to
“… in that silence you could hear wildflower pollen sifting down the bee-fried air.” —Ray Bradbury Like the hollow of a yawn and the
Near the cold stone trough, where tree frogs float sprawled across the surface, beside lurking daddy long legs, the door opens with a