“Her moodiness...” my mother says in a loud whisper to Aunt Arlene. “It's those teenage hormones.”
I glare at the back of her head. She'd be moody too if she were responsible
...
[+]
Wind chimes ring behind our house
in random harmony,
riffing with each passing bird
and thrumming bumblebee.
A glass dragon also sways there,
seeming mute while wind chimes sing,
but sunshine sparks cantos of light
from each iridescent wing.