It’s quarter to ten on a Saturday morning. I am lounging on the patio. A slight breeze tosses my hair across my cheek. I consider brushing it away. Instead, I close my eyes and absorb the sunshine.
Over by the swings I can hear Beth scooping up rocks with her little red shovel. The rocks tinkle and clink on the blade as she ladles and digs. Though she doesn't have a plan or purpose, I can sense a rythm in her motion.
Beth is wearing a pretty, orange sundress with a bright yellow sunflower splashed across the front. She is singing the Mickey Mouse song and giggling softly. I can hear the smile in her voice as she hums and plays.
A black bird, no bigger than my hand, with a red breast is perched on top of the swing set. It’s watching Beth, studying her moves. The bird tilts its head to the right and begins to chirp.
A few houses away, a neighbor fires up his lawn mower. At first, the machine roars, like a bear waking from a nap. After a few minutes, it settles into a steady purr, joining the chorus. The sounds mix together. They ebb and flow like waves on a beach.
The breeze catches the spirit and, feeling inspired, picks up its pace and begins to dance. The gentle wind tickles the branches of our petite ash tree, the one we planted when we first moved into the neighborhood. The tree jiggles, as it claps along. Closer to the house, the flowers and bushes sway and swoon.
I rock slowly in my lawn chair. The sounds embrace me. I breath deep, tasting fresh, clean air. The singing, chirping, buzzing and rustling merge, and for one moment, I understand the feeling of peace.
A minute later, I am asleep.
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