The dandelion elongated its neck to the extreme in order to out maneuver the evergreen bush stretching to absorb all the sunlight. The tiny gypsy moth caterpillars have already eaten all of the young tree's leaves before they even had a chance to unfurl. The mother and baby cottontails I'd seen in front of the house have been gone for several days now and in their place I've twice seen flashes of a low-swooping bird of prey moving too fast for me to identify. The first bloom of flowers have already gone to seed. Such a brief, mysterious, purposeful life. The tragedy of individual struggles seem to blend into recognizable order, structure, reason, rhythm (if not harmony) as you broaden the field of view.
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