There is a buzzing from the trees, which I remember is called "cicadas." I've returned from an exile without insects and now nature seems flush with beings. The cement seems to be sprouting grass—but those are called "yards." There are bees, and oily compound eyeballs underfoot. Crabapples occassionally fall from the tree, and mowers come to cut back long-toothed grass.

There are empty places on the shelves of the convenience stores, and there are things they don't have, like shaving cream—but every store has hair extensions, and lots of 'em. The CVS is a big block with just those simple letters on the front. So much space is not advertising!

My parents' house has translucent paper on the windows, lending light everywhere, and the piano still makes sound.