Descending to the ground, like kamikazes, flocks of grackle came to feast on Autumn’s spoils.  Chattering and cackling amongst themselves, their mission seemed wholly successful, even celebratory.  Soon they retreated to the trees to plan their next attack.  …

  The rhythmic whir and hum rose and fell like waves on a tumultuous sea, growing more intense as the sun journeyed westward.  Their voices were part of the seasonal back drop, forming the rich fabric of Summer’s chorus.  The cicada song.   The…

  We slogged through June in hip waders amidst the leaden, gray malaise, the air largely unstable and ostensibly resentful, like a teenage girl scorned.  The few sunny days provided fleeting relief, but we were wary and suspicious, and we were right…

The air had yet to be polluted and remained fairly clear and buoyant up until today.   Soon the crushing heft of humidity would contaminate the atmosphere, leaving us in a haze of scorching torridness and malaise, wilted and soulless.  I hate Summer. The sad…

I had no real idea what a gnat was, other than an utter and complete nuisance.  I had no real idea what they do, other than swarm about my face, or what, if anything, they bring to the evolutionary table, so I did a…