A long winter's dream

Waking before the sun comes up fully, but able to see all things aglow from it's hint. The air is cool but not cold. The sky is crystal clear. Footsteps resonate from the pavement. I make it just in time to watch the lake light on fire, all ablaze in the new light of the day. The wind blows softly but purposefully. I breathe deep.

Breakfast is made for the little ones and we sit together and laugh. Fresh orange juice and toast and a crossword puzzle. They scamper away giggling. Alone for a minute, I read thin, crinkly pages of an old Bible, take one more sip, and arise.

The sink is full of good smelling bubbles and hot water, but my hands don't burn. I scrub each dish with a squeaky clean shine, watch the water chase away the bubbles down the drain and I dry my hands. They are soft and clean.

The wet clothes await in the washer from last night's late night load. I gather them up on my hip and push the door open with the basket. I unlock the gate and step onto the freshly dew-rinsed grass, fresh smelling and cut from the day before. I hang tiny shorts and shirts and skirts and pants up on the line, securing them with their own clips. The wind blows lightly, swishing them back and forth, and a strong gust makes the flap, a clapping sound as if they approve. The wind grabs the clean smell and swirls it around the yard.

The sun is up and warming the day. I sit on the step as the girls ride their bikes up and back the driveway. They gather sticks and rocks and grass and leaves to make the special houses for the ants. I sit on the step strumming the only three chords I know but making the words fit just the same. The windchimes sing too, in the light summer wind. The leaves are growing bigger now on the tiny fruit trees by the road. Soon there will be apples and cherries, and I'll watch the girls in their flowy summer dresses as they pick them for a pie, but most make it only to their cherry stained lips that pucker to the taste but eat them just the same. Little tanned shoulders and scraped up knees. It's a hint to the perfect season of joy.

Our skin is feeling tight with the heat so we retreat to the shade tree where a cool rush of air greets our cheeks. We sit down to eat and lounge up high on the deck and we watch the day around town unfold. The hose fills up the pool and I tell them its too cold now, but later, after nap the time will be right. As I tuck them in bed, they ask if its warm yet and I say not quite, but just sleep it through, and have happy dreams and dream about me and when you wake up, you and me we will see eachother splash through the pool and create our mud pies. For this is the perfect day, one made for you and I. And its totally in reach. It lives where I live and lives where you live. It's waiting outside.

Their eyes bow to sleep and I tiptoe away, knowing this of all days is the perfect of days. I dig in the dirt to plant to purple and white flowers, and hang the basket of long viney flowers to hang in the summer breeze. I give the dry ones a drink and notice the greenest of greens along the flower bed in front by the steps.

I lay down belly down on the couch with my arms hanging down and watch the curtains blow in and go out. The fan circles gently up above my head and my eyes blink a bit heavier and I open them in vain. So much to do now, but I give up this moment and I close them again. The birds are singing outside and the wind blows so slightly. I dream of what we'll do once we awaken. For this is the perfect day, and it's only half done. So much yet to do, so much that will be done.