Observations of our love.

We sat on the porch and rocked back and forth, the sky turned purple and I told her that I loved her. The fireflies flew low because it was Sunday and even insects liked to wrap things up early. The katydids buzzed electric rhythms and the haze rolled over the mountains and fell asleep in the valley. This was serenity, here, her hand in mine and the only obligation left was dinner, but we were fine without it. The sky turned black and the stars took their places and the moths around the porch light buzzed by our ears every once in a while. There were goose bumps on her knees and a mosquito on my left hand and the house was dark even though the front door was open. We smiled at the thought of sitting here through the night, but we slept so well together that it would have been a punishment to deny our desires to dream. It was too hot for the comforter, so we shared a quilt her mother had made and held each other close during the darkest part of the night. She brought me coffee in the morning, with a little cream and a lot of sugar and she kissed my temple as she laid down again and crawled beneath the covers until her blood warmed up. The window stayed open because its layers of paint made it too difficult to shut, and we listened as the earth exhaled through the dew soaked tall grass making the cat tails dance and the wind chime sing. This was serenity, here, her head on my chest, and the only obligation left was breakfast, but we were fine without it.