Breathe

The air is soft.

It is warm and smells of green, and I lean
into its embrace, its enfolding warmth.
The sun is sinking.
Stripes of orange and aqua and grey stretch lazy fingers above a muted green field,
the moon hangs fuzzily in the opposite sky,
and I sit on the back steps and breathe the warmly humid air
and feel like I am breathing in the essence of living itself.
My boys tumble giggling in the grass, playing Yellow Bouncy Ball with their daddy.
My child hiccups within,
stirring restlessly,
ready to come smell the living for himself.
The summertime is melting away into orange popsicle stripes that paint the faces of my children, and color my skin warm.
Laughter carries on the breeze and swirls around me and I smile,
my eyes closed,
and just inhale.