There is a plot of land near my home which once housed an abundance of flora and fauna.
Turtles, birds, rabbits, snakes, wild dogfennel, pines, periwinkles, alamandas and southern river sage thrived in this space which now boasts only an open plot of beige mounds, cement cylinders, and monstrous machines.
I grimace at its "progress" daily.
Across the street, a large patch of wildflowers sit up and gaze upon this scene.
Day after day,
Erupting from the blue-eyed grass,
A family of spanish needle
and Mexican petunias
turn their blooms toward the beeping and the clunking of machines.
White peacock butterflies and red-tipped dragonflies dance around the feeding bees. I'd like to be like the flowers. To bloom rebelliously in the face of greed and destruction. Even though soon, they will be gone too.
