Current auditory data: Flies buzz. One or two drones patrol high up, unseen. Wind flows around the back of my ear. Leaves rustle. I hear the flap of a crow’s wings before its shadow flies over. Occasionally a sleeping dog’s twitching paw thumps the ground. Other than that, silence. SILENCE. Beautiful.
Already shadows are short and difficult to squeeze under. I assemble the covered camp chair Shari brought me, disturbing a scorpion that is soon disjointed segments under my paper towel. But even with the shade chair, the sun finds my arms. I break dead and some almost-dead branches off our host tree and squeeze the chair farther under; the lowest branches extend from the trunk at ground level, extending at as little as 30 degree angles.
Dwyn digs another cool hole under the bear grass canopy, unearthing ash that I assume remains from some fire a long time ago.