Hunter

I went out hunting—to my favorite spot.
Where strong, broad leaves allow the wispy grasses to grow tall without falling. And bold sunshine warms the openness. There is always life here—for, in all seasons, it provides much for many.

Soon, the flowers will be covered with bees and butterflies—their heavy heads full of nectar, within flowers too beautiful to be called weeds.
Juicy leaves, the food of caterpillars and baby bugs—spilling milk into hungry mouths.


She has found the perfect spot and hidden herself well. Waiting for another life to be drawn to this place.
A small crab spider, waiting for breakfast.
Wary of me as I pry the leaves apart, she turns to face me fearlessly.
Widely-placed front legs ready, she is this milkweed’s hunter.
I must find my own.