Day 188 - Summer in the Old House

The swallows slipped in and out of the eaves and the willow trees sagged in the heat. Many hours would pass. Each day the sun kept committed to it’s routine, stretching it's familiar patterns across the lawn before sliding away unseen.

At night the sky turned purple and the air became ripe with the smell of the day levering off the heated ground. We kept the attic window open; only a foot in height, it framed a perfect view of the moon that stayed bright enough to gild the furniture of the room in a white glow. A slow breeze would deliver the damp smell of flowering grass to our beds where we slept on top of sheets, falling in an out of dreams, to the sound of moths fluttering against a bed light.