Walk Around Home

Sky blue horizons are crisp and clear. The hazy, warm air of August was replaced yesterday with air cool and dry. The sun sets toward the west looking as near as an apple on a tree, like it could be plucked off and held in hand. Its golden rays sparkle in my daughter's hair and in the weeds along the roadside.

In the distance, a trinity of my kids bounce up and down trying to mount an aging hay bail. Their noise is almost silent. Coming from the north a motor grinds from the lawnmower. But near me the crickets and sounds of the gravel cracking under wagon wheel and foot take center stage.

In this moment, I am at home; each breath, each sight, each sound resonates the feeling.