Parent, showing an enthralled Child the insects that hold so many in a state of admiration, their yellow bellies lighting momentarily, hot fire in flies.
Dandelions bow their closed faces as Child runs past them, bare feet dark with mud. The sun had disappeared hours before, and in the wake of the stars, the dandelions fall asleep, petals shrinking meekly into themselves.
Breeze knocks the wind chimes playfully, tumbling, tangling, and tousling the overgrown grass. Wind chimes perform a number for the audience of uncut green blades below, silver cylinders bobbling with Breeze.
Garden Pail, muted green in the dark with rust along the rim, waits patiently for the next dawn, an unemptied line of silvery water still inside the chamber. A soiled foot nudges it, stirring the milky white reflection of the overhead lamp which flickers every so often on the green of the handle.
Moon emerges from a battle beneath the heavy clouds, claiming its garden with a dim light. Parent and Child are in the tall, overgrown grass. Dandelions have their faces turned, stems drooping, and Breeze is running rampant around Wind Chimes. Moon sees its own reflection, down in the shallow water of Garden Pail, a smiling, silvern thing. Moon’s Garden is content.
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