We climbed in the hammock
awash in flies
the hammock
not she, nor I.
She squimpered. I grusked.
She’d spent the whole day frumping,
I figured she must
have found the next thing
that pissed off her fancy.
I softened then when
I saw what she’d spied
a puddle of gnats
who’d yet to have flied
or perhaps had alit
to our colorful place
to create such a fit
from supposed sugar and lace.
plumdirt 
They’re everywhere now — all of them. At least the mosquitoes aren’t yet full force, and the love bugs seem to have departed.
Summer, or almost so, in Texas.