I have returned to the familiar place only to find things noticeably different. Because of the recent rain, everything seems to be steeping in its own juices. The air reeks of a certain sweet organic stench that can only be compared to an exotic tea I’ve often smelled within the walls of a local coffee shop. It seems as though all my friends of fauna have given the very sweetness of themselves only to satisfy the taste buds of the soil in which they were birthed. The vibrant yellow and green that I discovered last week have somehow lost much of their glamour. Yet within the dull grass there are still some bright hues that my tiny winged neighbors are drawn to.
The sounds around me are different this week as I hear no cicadas in the distance, but am captivated by a faint, yet pulsating tone. It is the melody of an orchestra of strumming crickets, not arranged in a uniform pattern of seating, but dispersed randomly across the wild floor seeming to be just as acoustically organized as those in a symphony hall.
I find myself in the exact same place that I was sitting before. In fact, the grass is still bent by my trek last week. However, this familiar place makes me feel very distant, distant from my friend the bee, who is far away by now, and far from the berry which has long been seen. Yet, as my body stills and my soul quiets among the humdrum of the faded color, I notice a movement from within. It is not a frantic movement, but one that seems to be exhausted and weathered. It is my faithful friend the mantis. I begin to approach my creepy friend closer and closer as I wait for his permission. As he turns his head to me, I notice his scared body. He has been through a lot in the past week: torrential rains, perhaps a bird. My little friend full of wisdom has seen his share of danger. He does not speak to me today. No homily, no parables, he simply graces me with his presence once again. I do not know what to make of it, will I see him next week, or will he have returned to the dirt?

O Maker, you have made life, and you have allowed death.
You have stirred up color upon your pallet, and you have taken it away.