The doves fly together, curving and diving in formation like aerial military bombers. Air whistles through their wings as if Harpo Marx was flying along too.
There is a rainbow in the lawn sprinkler. The misty water squirts up in a V for victory.
An Amish woman ties her horse's reins to a dogwood tree. I know the manure will come - yes, there it is. I find a shovel and a trash bag, and hand these to her.
Cars line up on the bridge. Waiting on a four-way stop, the exit traffic from the fair backs up. Snips and bits of conversations carry in the breeze over the water, above the shimmery heat and hum of engine noises. Cars honk horns at a lone ski boat pausing near the bridge. Temptation always brings a huge desire to say 'hi' in this way to those below on stage in the river.
It is small town fair weekend. The ground bees attack trash cans and dumpsters. Aggressively they claim their prizes from the fair. The bees won't be deterred from what nature tells them is theirs.
By Sunday, all are gone. Silence comes welcome. No more elephant ears, apple dumplings or lemon shake-ups. In another year, maybe I will want to go.
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