Spent one of the most pleasant evenings I’ve had in a long time. Sat on my front step in the pink evening light, reading To Kill a Mockingbird and sipping wine from a glass while the warm wind dried the sweat on my neck. Every now and then I would look up to watch a family going for their evening stroll, and one time a young man and his pretty, pregnant young wife, talking softly while her hand absently caressed her gently swelling belly. Just as it was getting too dark to read by, my son called me in for the supper he’d cooked for us. The house was ripe with the smell of pasta and fried mushrooms, and the light from the kitchen gave of a warm, welcoming sort of glow that I normally only associate with winter time.
Tonight, I am at peace with the world.