Inside the grand circle of mountain ridges, inside the circle of trees that ring the grass, an abundance of pretty little things.
Beneath the ironwood tree, a fungal family up-reach through the ivy.
But at each center of the tanish, beigeish disks, a spot of blue.
Our snake this week was a third the length, a quarter the girth, a fiftieth the mass of last week’s blacksnake.
A little garter garden guarder.
Looking both ways, tongue forked and flicking, smelling me.
Between the snake and the tomatoes a pile of brush.
What’s not to lich?
Glad to be coral, in full rut; as shameless, if a bit more delicate, than a baboon’s butt.
Garden guarders, like the garter, may be verygolds.
So nearly stepped on, just inside the kitchen door, a chevron,
an inch and a quarter, weirdly well drafted.
Not impressive as a flyer, kind of a stumble flutter.
But eclipses my poor powers.