This Morning

the javelina circle the house
the leaves rush to the ground
as morning becomes afternoon
some of the leaves go further and further
away;
some near the base of the windmill
,at the nudge of a slight breeze, dispersing light and shadows
a thrasher investigates the ground
tiny creatures stuck in a web
(death could be the absence of anticipation)
the spider sleeps in a cave made home
the human in a cave made home
blows bubbles towards curious whiskers