In late July, when the leaves are green and full,
the schoolyard stands hot and silent,
but for the whine and drone of the insects
singing their heat songs.
I like to sit up on the hill
among the tall yellow grasses
listening to them whisper among themselves.
Together we watch as black shadows
slip out from the shade under the trees
escaping to wander freely across the meadow.

– Unmesh Swanson.


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