Here
Hundreds of miles from landfall
All that is left is tattered sheep’s clothes
That once hid devouring wolf
But now only flaps
Stirring leaves in fright
Encouraging some to take flight

Morning glories risk
Their morning peak
From behind green vines

Tomatoes large and small
Ripen
Rounding, reddening
In still hot sun

Yellow crookneck squash hugs ground
White clouds crowd sky

Look: bluebird sits on the roof
Of the bird feeder
Chipmunk flings itself
Out of ferns
Across the porch
While no bird drinks
From our small pond
Where on occasion 
We see small snake

The house remains
Quiet, still yet
Not yet ready
To risk the day