Today was for noticing small things—

 

the bumble bee flitting amongst buffalo bur 

working her pollinator magic, 

 

the explosion of rigid goldenrod not yet bloomed, 

 

the sun dappling through 

riparian canopy as I crossed a dry wash, 

 

the widow skimmer perched 

on my walking stick who, unafraid, allowed 

me to touch the tip of a gossamer wing, 

 

the cicada lumbering past, 

his shrill call an unwelcome intrusion, 

 

the common wood nymph’s yellow-ringed eyespots 

a brazen contrast to his lush sumac perch, 

 

two silver-spotted skippers sharing 

a catclaw brier, their haustella uncurled 

to reach the nectar stored deep within, 

 

and, nearest the creek, the mayfly resting 

on my forearm, her translucence 

proof that she had only a few days left to live. 

​

I once wrote that I am overwhelmed by 

the abundance of summer, and that may still be true, 

but today I learned to embrace 

such riches by savoring each in its turn—

 

one by one by remarkable one.