They talk to you in subtitles of a language not meant to be understood. The rain from spain falls mainly in their veins. Loving to drag across your eyes like serrated clouds tasking us to find them as they are or hidden in pearls and pearls. Sometimes lucky enough to find them in clover plying a fiddle. This is about frustration and rust holen bridges. The free ones are worst. Angry Swallowtails on Harleys. We always bless the annuals and the gardeners that sent them transplanting. Pumpkins never kept them well.