Early Morning

Waiting suspended, belly to the Vast Blue, a brown spider waits. Her invisible web spans the spread finger distance between two delicate, violet tinged Hydrangea flowers, above a lush mound of leaves. Silent, patient and enduring, she waits.
Below her, a snail seeks shade, skating slowly on a silver, fragile glass path of it's own making. After a night of raspy grazing, seeks the safety of the dark in hidden spaces. To sleep, sealed tight in his carry-along home, digesting and growing during the day.
It is early morning summer day-start and a promise of hot hangs in the air.
Dew tears run down the faces of Calla Lilly leaves, deep green hands cupped to the sky. Gathering the harvest of night sweat and channeling that wet down fleshy stems to thirst roots. White stemware flowers tower stately above, each pointy end adorned with a diamond drop of moisture.
I sit in my patio garden, quiet as that brown spider, bathing in an ocean of bird song. From tall trees, birds sings their melodies, repeated endlessly.
The plants are singing, too. They sing a slow song; notes will fall in the fall on the eager ears of the earth; tiny orbs of life, waiting; to sprout next year, or the years after.
Then another stanza.
Endlessly.