With the windows open, a breeze carries the sounds of squeaking tricycle wheels and plastic dump truck dumpings in from the back yard. Voices giggle spring, echoing grass and tomato plants and snails and beetles against the walls. The sun sits low while a bike bell tings. The grill is cool: today I have bucket chicken on the table, waiting for little hands to grasp drumsticks tight. I’ll have to close the windows soon, or dinner will be cold.
Many more days like this, please.