A cool breeze is blowing through the trees invaded by squawking sparrows. Sparrows have been a major environmental problem in my area for several years. Their ceaseless peals evoke nightmarish images of Alfred surrounded by flapping black wings.
A subtle scent filters across the sky like phantom smoke signals puffing out a message of impending rain. Distant flickering implies an approaching storm. Tis the season.
This has been a perfect day. This is a perfect moment. Of course it will pass as soon as the storm arrives. I hate storms. But I enjoy perfect moments, even the fleeting ones. There are more of them than we notice sometimes.
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perfect moments
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