The sky clears toward sunset, and the wood thrushes, which have been singing all day long in the dim light, fall silent. The raincrow peers at the sun-flooded world with red-rimmed eyes,
the trees steam,
and raindrops glisten on the matted locks of a dandelion gone to seed,
while up in the woods, pink lady’s slipper orchids stand like strippers in a spotlight,
more forlorn than seductive,
and the wings of a tiger swallowtail lie scattered among the forest litter, as if left behind in some final metamorphosis beyond the reach of sunlight or imagination.