Even sitting in the sun, the day is a little cool when the wind blows. But it's worth it, just to feel it on my skin for a few minutes while the kids are upstairs - not napping, but not screaming either.
The porch holds on to the echos of the children's play - rocks piled and organized near the step; a small hula-hoop circles itself, a little 'O' of nothing on the planks; push cars plopped akimbo where they stopped for snack. But it's quiet, save for the breeze which tickles the wind-chimes and the new blossoms on the apple tree. A car or two meanders by on the road.
The leaves on the tree still look new and fragile. The sun seeps through them and they glow, like stained glass. The lawn is wild, with heaps of dandy-lions roaring at the birds. A fat bee bumbles through the pride, landing on each flower. Its so heavy the blossoms wobble as it sips at the nectar, smearing pollen on its head and legs.
Small, red capped birds peck at the ground, eating bugs or seeds or the leftovers from the kids picnics. They are far too trusting, considering the murderous leanings of the cat. He mews, and lopes over when he sees me, flopping on the dusty steps and rolling over for a scratch. The birds, seeing him, head for higher ground and peep at us from the trees. They won't last long at this rate, he's brought down faster, smarter birds. But for now, he lets me scratch his chin and tries to sit on my lap. But he can never stay for long, since he kneads my legs with needling claws and I have to shove him off, and scritch his ears instead.
The wind-chimes toll sweetly in the breeze, and I shiver and smile.