A Picture and a Poem The young Belgian painter Harold Ancart captures nature's shifting landscape, as described in verse by Dean Young. Second Fall in the Afterlife First I go out into the yard to see what survived the night. The broken birdbath still holds a few handfuls of water, good enough for the grackles to keep their capes immaculate and the mounds of the fire ants between some paving stones look bigger, proof of the progress of their underground pyramids. Back inside, my cat has cornered something invisible and struts about in triumph. Swallowing my morning dose, I can almost hear the ocean made of falling chandeliers my wife's listening to on headphones reading about the care of blind lion cubs on the Internet. Maybe this month the jasmine will finally pull the house down. Who wouldn't rather dissolve in the mouths of flowers than be trampled by the stampede charging into the sky?