Hot cicada hum,

I breath in
          
              

                   then out,

Blue moon lit crickets strum.

Squirrels dodge and dash,
    with acorns as though they were cash.
To the side is trash.

Upon lawns fading,
    Coxcomb flames in the morning . . . . .
Muscovy floating?

Lavender, white, and purple,
    many are the Crepe Myrtle.

I walk down the hill.

Passing an old lady,
    and her dog (a bit mangy),
    I hear geese faintly.

Catalpa, Sweet Gum,
    in the wind their seeds have swum.

Soar, whatever may come!

Jay walk JFK--

Blue wings on display,
    listen to the squawking Jay!

Before cicadas,
    crickets croon a morning buzz.
I flee rush hour cars.