Fall

I watch a hawk dive past the rising half-moon, the origami arrow of his body glowing red in the last rays of the sun and turning dark just before he plunges into the forest. I go inside meaning to tell you, but as soon as I see you I forget everything. We talk. You wrap a present, and I play with an old rubber band until it snaps.

I notice a cricket struggling in a house spider’s web behind my file cabinet and crouch down to free it. Half of a hind leg stays behind in the web like a black eyelash. I read you a ghost story from a thousand years ago until your eyelids begin to droop. We say our goodnights. Later, as the moon sinks behind the western ridge, I hear the cricket calling from the garden, a slow stutter.

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Dave Bonta (bio) crowd-sources his problems by following his gut, which he shares with 100 trillion of his closest microbial friends — a close-knit, symbiotic community comprising several thousand species of bacteria, fungi, and protozoa. In a similarly collaborative fashion, all of Dave's writing is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 United States License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the "share alike" provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).

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