I’m watching the evening settle in around the treehouse I built today. There’s no squirrels this evening, just a few late cicadas and a bird or two. Frogs join the chorus as the shadows lengthen under the trees. I have all the windows open and the breeze snakes in one window and out another, cooling as it goes. I’m having a peaceful moment but I’ll have to start the washing machine here in a minute and it will cover all these natural sounds with its own self-important industry.

Sometimes I think there just might be a writer in here someplace.