Swinging and dancing in ecstatic circles until you go fasterandfasterandfaster
and you fall down in a petticoat-over-the-head heap.
It looks like umpteen waterslides
and swimmin' in the pool Every Single Day
and picking the raspberries
and forgetting about the raspberries because there are so many other things to do
and movies at the drive-in
and toys that decorate the front and back yards because Play just absolutely CanNot be contained in a civilized fashion.
It looks like the family flag being flown jubilantly
and damn near Always runnin' around in your hardly nothin's.
It smells like rain in the desert (well, maybe once or twice)
and hot and hot and hot
and forty-five cherry popsicles per day.
It sounds like mama's favorite music out in the backyard
and the quiet, splashy noise of the pool's pump
and the occasional pop of a firecracker.
There are hummingbird whirs
and incandescent wings of dragonflies named George
and squished, tiny plums all over the patio.
There are bees buzzing the peppermint and catnip
peaches being watched eagerly
and tomatoes being coaxed into hurrying.
The corn is high (I just know the cotton would be too, if we had it)
and so are our spirits.
are those spirits.
The crickets started singing last night--
It's good, y'all.
Here's to This Beautiful Life.