1 Summer Sunrise
THE PINK AND PURPLE HUES THIS DAWN presage a glowing hot day. The air already shimmers in the diagonal rays of the rising sun, although there is no breeze yet. The dew will soon burn off, shadows gone.
The meadow, a dense, matted mass of grasses and clover, birds and beetles, mice and mosquitos, drinks the last cool hours like water, fortification against the punishing sun ahead.
2 Anthers and Antennae, 8 a.m.
THE MEADOWS ARE TEEMING, thrumming, thriving with life, most of it plant or insect. They are symbiotic, and many bugs take on the appearance of their companions, unseen among the wildflowers dotting the rich sea of grass.
3 Swallowed, 10 a.m.
THE SWELLING SEED HEADS of the grasses bend beneath their own weight, swaying seductively in a soft breeze. To enter is to be pulled into a rolling wave of slender parting, closing stalks and leafy, knife-tipped grass blades harboring millions of lives; absorbed in the folds of the crackling meadow, without beginning, middle, or end.
4 High Noon
THE MIDDAY SUN PULSES pale heat, blasting insects or animals careless enough to ignore it.
Even the thick, lush grasses blush beneath the noon sun, and eventually break down.
5 Seed Heads (two views)
6 The Flight of the Honeybee, 4 p.m.
A RARE HONEYBEE’S FLIGHT CAN BE RECORDED in multiple ways, from multiple perspectives: speeding through the charged ionosphere, tireless legs thick with purpose.
7 Wildflowers, 6 p.m.
LOCATION IS EVERYTHING. Sulphur cinquefoil, purple vetch, and pink clover run rampant through the wild grasses, subtle jewels in a green swell. In the rolling meadow, buttercup, fleabane, and white campion escape the wrath of domestication, ignorant of slander, their delicacy swamped but virility a virtue.
8 Bioluminescence (two views)
THE MEADOW REVOLVES IN FIREFLIES, reflecting the starry sky, infinite trails of ephemeral light blinking from every thorax.
AS EVENING ADVANCES, THE MEADOW BLURS. Grasses, fireflies, clouds splash across the slow wash of early night.
AT MIDNIGHT, THE MEADOW IS MERE SHAPES filtered through the darkness. In a huddle of cloud and fog, barn, fence, tree, and hillside are barely discernible, directing my attention to several octaves of scissoring, singing insects.