You must have tucked in at dusk beneath the stars in the dissipating summer warmth under a moonless sky. Your little purple spokes transformed from a wide spread embrace of all that is wondrous in the sky to a pucker for a kiss that pressed into the forehead of the peaceful night; you slept with the lullaby of peeper frogs and great-horned duets.
The moon rose while you were held in your self-embrace, and as the sun graced the tips of cottonwood leaves, you started to loosen your hold on dreams of bees. You peeked out of your closed body to see the golden morning light painting the meadow beneath the setting moon. Your yawn, your slow pandiculation, opened you to a new day with the chorus of common yellow-throats announcing its beauty.
