Dusk

And sometimes you just get lucky because the kids are fighting and can’t play alone, and you happen to have made a pot of soup for dinner at 8am.  So it was last night.  Henry needed a push, and he tugged me out into the milky light.  Sparrows ducked in and out of nests.  Wet grass stuck to feet black from running.  Fallen leaves.  I pushed small backs higher and higher, slender stacks of bones against my palms.  And breathed in fallen pears, half eaten by squirrels, fermenting the sweet air, while small legs pump, pump, pumped.  I have to remember it is nice to be there when dusk falls.