The long stem of this wild grass silently hangs above competing weeds, wildflowers and native plants, patiently waiting for its seeds to drop. Some will be eaten by birds and field mice. Others will fall in places they cannot germinate. But for eons these simple seeds have dropped from similar pods carrying the lessons of their ancestors. Each year enough find their way into the earth to continue the silent tradition.
Leaving for work, I noticed the sunlight gleaming through this abandon cicada shell hanging under a fence rail. I came back a few days later, right around the same time, and got this photo of the backlit shell. These empty shells disgust my wife but when I was a child we would play with them in the summer. We had great fun pretending they were aliens, space ships and monsters. Maybe because of that, they remind me of simpler times and summer fun.