The weight of a sleepy baby on my back
My four year old runs ahead, brighter than the fireflies that dot the fringes of the wood
Beer in a mason jar
Sleepy cackles from the chickens
Sky deepening every moment
“Mom come on!” His joy and passion mingle with impatience as I choose my steps with care.
“Bye mom!” He flings himself down the hill, rolling with the abandon of youth
The weight of the baby increases as only a sleeping child can
Tree frogs and cicadas serenade us accented by the distant sound of cars on the road
A cool wind stirs the air, the promise of fall after a hot summer
“Mom!” An intense whimper this time
He runs to me pointing at the woods that have gone black.
He takes my hand, and we walk slowly towards the yellow light spilling from the house.