dusk settles on our shoulders, cloaking the earth with thick, cool air.
the kids scramble after their father and a leather ball, giggling from deep inside their bellies. to them he is a giant, mythic, indestructible.
their steps crunch the august grass and stir up swarms of buzzing things, bright in the leftover sunlight.
and my heart catches on this scene, the way my husband jostles for position, laughs, talks smack, the way he relishes this game and this evening and this moment flanked by smallish people every bit as much as they do.
he's a good man, this husband of mine. my heart spills over.