Early evening and I ache for sleep. A day filled with errands and doing, doing, doing.

Laundry, crisp from the line waits to be put away.

The plum tree drops jewel bombs helter skelter on the lawn, a deliciously mad race with dribbles on our chins.

Wind whispers through the birch while the hubster drums wildly at the piano keys.

Milo prostrates in the sun and Paris snores from the center of the room, not to be forgotten.

This and that, all of it home.