A wicker chair on a solid wooden porch on which paint is pealing off the rails like old nail polish on overdue fingertips. An old car is bathing in the yard, growing moss between the rust of its wings. On the clothesline, sheets are hustling with the breeze.
We’re making mud pies and trying to catch frogs by the pond where we shouldn’t swim in.
Tire swings and bond fires.
The smell of the burning kindling is giving us marshmallow munchies. But, «not before supper» – we know… We know… While running around, chasing the dog, a voice shouts out from above the stovetop and beyond the open window.
Time to go wash our hands and set the table.
The sun is setting, leaving orange and pink tree tips behind. Soon, moths will start overflowing the front door lanterns and we’ll be able to count fireflies threw the skylight.