There's a storm over the mountains. I can see it, the way the clouds streak downward, like spilled ink, signaling rain. I wish it would come back this way. I sit on my porch, taking in the second-to-last day of July. The sun descends gradually behind the horizon, its last rays bleeding brilliant color from the sky. It's a miracle, a masterpiece. I don't understand how everyone doesn't come running out of their houses to kneel at its presence.
Everything is alive. A friendly breeze sweeps down our street, sweetly enveloping me, dragging its feet through the tree tops. Something about the summer breeze, it feels like a deep, satisfied sigh.
Contentment. Peace. Such simple gifts I find on summer evenings just by walking out my front door. The kitty runs across the yard to meet me where I stand in the road, marveling at the sky. I scoop her up, and we're still. We take it in. Crickets. Sprinklers. Cars passing by. The light of day slowly fades. I can almost hear them, the last breaths of July.