27 Aug 14
The goldenrod sways in the late August breeze like a metronome. The wind rustled leaves sound like moving water. Elvis eats some tall grass by the patio’s ceramic planter while Ava roams the backyard, her grizzled nose reading the wind like a story. We came out to pull weeds, but the honeybees are collecting nectar so we left them to wander from one white blossom to another.
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