The saturation point

Nature is approaching the climax of the year.

That moment when the birth of seeds and bugs and blooms exceeds the saturation point and bursts forth everywhere.

I drive through outdoor space, through the underpass into my neighborhood as cottonwood seeds rush towards me, a soft meteor shower pinging against my windshield, a tiny reproduction of the universe in the here and now.

Spiders weave webs to catch me as I walk out the door to my deck and dance down on gossamer threads to dangle over my plant, entertaining and terrifying me in one fell swoop.

Rabbits feign nonchalance as they protect their nests from unimaginable distances.  Squirrels scamper up and down trees in delirious joy.

Ripe and fecund, the world groans in ecstasy and prepares to collapse in upon itself.

This is the last charge before the descent of plenty into decay, the glory before the miasma of August.