70 Degrees in August

The white vinyl plastic skirting waves at me There is a discarded orange peel Halfway down the driveway From a mailbox walk. I stepped over it yesterday and smiled thinking of Ryan. He loves oranges. There is a curly blonde little boy Smiling at us over a baby gate. Soon, we will make breakfast. Dad is on the couch with a throw blanket That doesn't quite reach his exposed feet. The house is waking Everyone stretching Yawning. I exhale a good morning. It is 70 degrees in August