Grey sky, leafy green, white and lilac lilacs. Not much more that’s still and silent with color; spring bulbs were eaten by the voles many years ago. Noisy streaks of blue and red, black and yellow: bluejays, cardinals, cowbirds, starlings, blackbirds, and the chipper tiny goldfinch. No flying green, and if there were, it’d have to be a falling leave; that, or likely a parakeet whose eye was on the open window while his owner lifted up the door to clean his cage.
Cacophony–I love that word–cacophony in every different species language, all saying, “Get up! Breakfast’s ready!” Occasionally, the whirling spinning sound of wheels and humming motor, a growing whoosh then fading down the road, intrudes upon utopia. Hard metal sounds, once quiet in the earth, taught to speak by man.
And so the day progresses.
UPDATE: The grey sky is now punched with holes of blue, and cut into pieces by an ash and creamy circling turkey vulture.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology