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
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