BOSTON — I can't hear you above the rumble of insects in the distance. They're telling the secrets of hydrangeas, moonflowers, the last good rain. The message is huge in this heat. Look at the thermometer, its red finger pressed against the evening's damp lips, hushing everything. Even the stars, sweating silver, restrain themselves while the crickets, vibrant and unseen, give us the world in syllables of green.
(c) Copyright 1999. The Christian Science Publishing Society