Cars in herds around the park on the streets around the park. Horns sounding now like sheep in flocks before shearing.
I see a wasp on a daisy in the grass behind the bench I sit on in the park this late afternoon, rush-hour.
Cacophony.
I see a woman standing with her baby in her arm, the blur of a bicycle all of a sudden passing nearly . . .
I do gasp at the almost.
The Falling Leaf Review 