The dusk of a hot bucolic summer day
The land is at rest
Bathed in warm red-gold
A buzzing of countless insects
A concert of countless crickets
A balmy odour of earth, flowers, herbs, trees
A hushed rustling of leaves in a gentle evening breeze
Drowsy bird songs fill the air
The underbrush enlivens
Winged acrobats appear for a festive tryst
Prudently, to banquet on seeds
Wary, in stunning exotic dresses
With voices like wondrous calling cards
They approach from all sides
I sit enchanted
Nestled in a snug blanket
And enjoy the show
Of delightful scents, colours, and sounds
For a magical time of unspoiled bliss
While they gain confidence
In this strange quiet creature
That does not vie with them
© by Frank Mewes.
Used with the author’s permission.
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