I love the feel of an evening August breeze as it slides past the curtains. Crickets keep time in the backyard. The creek sings a lullaby. The sun sets rose pink over the plains. Voices of children call out as they cling to the last few days of vacation. The sky is one hundred shades of blue and gray. The last of the sunlight lingers on the clouds, saying a slow good night.
The day was warm, but the night breeze is cool. It dances on my neck, the back of my leg. The deep night will turn cold. I will sleep well under the cover of blankets. The sun will rise a bit later in the morning. The day will dawn with reminders of all that must still be done. Brisk fall mornings are when I make up for the lost time of lazy afternoons of summer.
Everything will be crisper in the fall. The air. People’s voices. The sounds of shoes on the sidewalk. All of them will strike with a bit more urgency. People will scurry about preparing for the coming winter. But for now, I sit in the path of the soft wind. I will make mine a slow good night.
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