As I write, Abby is dangling her feet in the dust, as she twirls on the swing set, wearing a purple tu-tu, calling out intelligible babble to her brothers. Copper heads glittering like new pennies, those same brothers, still in their jammies, are hanging upside down from the trapeze, enjoying the different view while watching the wind billow through the trees.
Breakfast is done, but the warm aroma of toasty sausage and cheesy eggs still lingers around the kitchen. Soon the breeze will whirl through, edying in corners and fluttering the linens, carrying away breakfast and bringing the warmth of afternoon.
It’s officially late summer, and the change in light is palpable- yesterday was still just high bright summer, this morning, the light has shifted, is mellow and golden and easy. The only thing making it “official” is that it has been noticed, but there is always a day, for each season, where the light tips over the edge and flows differently.
Laughter floats in the open window, coupled with an occasional shriek by Beanie. Deeper in the house, the voice of the weather channel babbles importantly to itself- David had begun his Sunday morning pre-church nap, the remote cradled loosely in his sleeping, relaxed hand. The bones of that tender, wanting-to-work hand have begun to knit, the swelling is down, and the cast is off.
This morning, life is just good.