I sip rich, Sumatran coffee from my wicker rocking chair on the front porch. A soft, warm breeze carries the scent of freshly mowed lawns and hearty Saturday Morning breakfasts. Leaves with the first tinges of fall color flutter a bit as squirrels chase each other for love and nuts in the branches of the maple tree in our front yard. An elegant, middle-aged African American couple strolls by, holding hands, and smiling into each others eyes. They greet the folks they pass with the same smiles, sharing their contented happiness with the neighborhood.
Little Max chatters and hollers and sings goofy songs next door. I have a soft spot for Little Max. He's five, and ill-used by his older siblings, always crying over something or another. Singing or crying, and oh so cute with his little British accent. Today, he and I chat while he walks the outside of their porch railing. A raised bungalow porch is quite a high place for a little boy to fall down from, and I tell him to be careful, because I would be very sad if he fell and got smashed. He laughs off my concerns as he slides down the side of his house from the banister. He puts on a brave face, but does stop singing his "Dad's ukulele song" and goes inside with a frown saying, "I only get a little dirt. And it hurts my hands."
I love Max. I hope he spends more of today singing than crying. It is hard to be the youngest.
Inside I hear the clatter of dishes as my husband washes up from last evening's guests. Wine and appetizers and five hours of lively conversation with folks we haven't really seen in months.
Our new Pandora station provides sweet soul and reggae groove accompaniment to the dish washing. And out here with me, actual birds chatter and squawk along with Three Little Birds.
In this medley of kids playing, dogs barking, reggae grooving, birds chattering, neighbors singing, leaves rustling... I sip and rock and breathe and drink deeply of this moment.
Ah - MM is calling me to our own hearty breakfast.
I am filled with thankfulness.