now that it’s just my winter

mud dauber nests

ancestral masks

the eyes go back
to being shadows

studying the markings
of bark beetle larvae

probing the beebalm’s red forked tongues

the acrid odor / of a stinkbug’s fear / kitchen spider

haiku: “big fake stare / the caterpillar is tired / of being a caterpillar”

now the leaves get more of the sky than just sunlight

I take a break from organizing my files

gnats follow the branching cracks in its skin

blunders across a pair of painted tulips

its enormous antennae attract a harvestman

the click beetle’s antennae sweep back and forth