In the cool of the twilight . . .

After the sun goes down and the sunset is just a faint pink memory in a quickly forgetting sky . . .

When that same sky can’t remember what color it’s supposed to be, so it turns all conceivable hues in a matter of seconds, trying to recover its identity . . .

When the wind dies to a whisper . . .

When the relaxation is palpable, and the neighborhood is so quiet that every dog’s bark, every child’s squeal, every bird’s murmuring is accented by the whisper of wind and amplified through the growing dark so it sounds like (though it comes from miles away) it was meant for only you to hear.

Those are the times that take me back the most . . . those rare glimpses of peace and happiness that recall a time of much peace and even more happiness.  We’d strip off our shoes and socks and cavort around the front lawn just outside the circumference of the patio light.  Playing old games and inventing new ones. 

Those magical hours stretched on forever.  We hid and we sought, and we sought and we hid.  And we ran from the witch in the well and the bears that weren’t out that night.  We ran until our feet were green.  Until we collapsed in breathless statues that picked potatoes or washed clothes or made monkey sounds while scratching their armpits.  Until we literally kicked the can.  And then we ran some more.

And every night, the games would get better even though they were the same.  And the fat neighbor girl would ride by on a bike that was much too small for her and say, “Hi guys.  Bye guys.”  And we would giggle and turn that into a game too.

I think there were fewer mosquitoes back then.  I know the stars were much brighter.  And bedtime came much later.  Sunsets were prettier, and they lasted longer.  And summer lasted ten months, and it was never too hot.

And as the sun sinks down and the wind whispers the echoes of that miles-away dog’s bark and answering child’s squeal through the cool of the twilight, I wonder what that child will look back on most poignantly.  Perhaps this night?  There really aren’t that many mosquitoes out.  And that sunset was truly something to behold.  And it hasn’t been all that hot.  And it’s not even close to bedtime.

I strip off my shoes and socks and stroll across the grass to a spot just beyond the halo of patio light and look up at two faint stars and a few satellites. 

Who am I kidding?