In The Dooryard.

Dinner in the dooryard tonight.  Leftovers from a long list, lightening the fridge, with fresh touches from the garden.  Curries, salsas, chicken and ribs, refried succotash with local corn, implausibly sweet and spicy.  The light fading, the fire holding back the night as crickets and cicadas call forth the half-moon and stars.

It’s beautiful out here, warmed by the fire, cooled by a gentle breeze, a confused margin tracing a wavering curve up the side of my face.

Yawning, stretching, I say goodnight and reluctantly retire to my second floor bedroom; five o’clock comes early for this boy.

At the window I fidget with the fan, then notice my housemate Holly, still by the fire, perhaps contemplating a bit of her home-made peach and basil ice cream.  I grab my camera and set up for a thirty second exposure; it looks like this:

Flames flicker, prayer flags flutter, and I’m off to dream the dreams of summer.

Good night.