In the four o’clock hour…
The air has changed into a spicy tomatoey warmth with notes of garlic drawing people downstairs or inside.
Notes of new strung guitars hum and gnarl through amps mimicking the growl of bellies.
Out of the window I see her… you could set your watch by her and I often do… Benita stands and wills the door to open and fresh flakes of hay to appear…4:30 on the dot.
The girls all shifting places as the baby climbs to see the new book… they try to sneak bites of the newest sheep’s milk fudge before the littlest pouts for and extra bit.
I leave out some paints and dib and dab as I finish up the dinner… a new gold paint from one of my dearest truest friends.
As boys jump over fences and more firewood is stacked… a new game is created…
the hungry debate the facts and fiction of Noah and his incredible ark… all of our animals are now bedded down for the night.