Imperfectly Nice

Sweet summertime

  
The world is bleached blue in the fading light, the frogs and crickets and cicadas playing their nightly song while the fireflies blink like tiny, white Christmas lights.

I lay on the front porch, fingers scraped and stained from picking blackberries on the fence row between our house and the farm behind us.

I watch the moon rise with my little one close against me. I lazily swat mosquitoes away from him and his still downy, soft hair tickles my nose. 

He whispers to me to tell him “secrets” (stories) about when he was a baby. I tell him about the all of the time we would spend circling the back deck or the front yard when his colic and reflux were at their worst, while I would sway him and sing “Dream a Little Dream of Me.”

I would tell him the man in the moon was smiling at him while he cried and I paced. Then, I didn’t think those would ever be sweet memories, but they are.

He asks if we can dance and sing under the moon now, and we do, him giggling as we spin. 

Eventually, the mosquitoes chase us away, back to the warm light of the house. 

The magic of nighttime during the summer has spun its quiet spell around us and we look up at the moon one last time before we head off to bed. 

Advertisements

Single Post Navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: