Capping a long week,
I settle into a chair on the deck
and close my eyes.
The warmth of the afternoon sun
plays tag with a dry, cool breeze
across my face.
The birch rustle gently,
occasionally overpowered by
the wind mimicking the surf,
pushing through the pine branches.
How many different bird calls?
One playful, one incessant, one urgent.
A car going through the neighborhood,
now a plane far overhead.
My eyes open to a flood of green, spring green,
the white blooms of a dogwood,
and the golden hue of a sinking sun,
warm upon my face.
dog in my lap.