The air here is cool, and the humidity low. When night falls, an array of tiny, white lights twinkle between swaying branches.
Soft cushions pillow us as we sit in wrought-iron rockers, and rest our feet on wooden slats.
We sip, as we rock....
Night-sounds surround us...The chirping of insects, the trilling of tree frogs, and the intermittent call of a lonely bird...
Stars abound.
An occasional cloud floats, high above our heads, giving us reason to wonder, and an opportunity to create, as accompanying breezes play in our hair...
Will we talk, love? Will we remark on the loveliness of the geranium's last blooms? Will we marvel on the palate of the wine, as it sits upon our tongues? Will we digest the contents of our day? Will we open up a Pandora's Box of hopes and dreams?
Or will we sit silent, content with our condition; the air, the scenery, the wine, and God's music...
© Copyright 2007-2008 Stacye Carroll
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