As they exit the house and tumble out into the soft song of evening. As they descend the long set of rough stone steps that switch back and forth through short cut grass. As, laughing, they climb and jostle and elbow their way into the small, sleek black car parked at the curbside below.
Stand on the threshold, and wave.
And when one of them – the last to duck into the car – pauses, turns, and looks back up the rise; when that one answers my hand’s raised motion; when he grins broadly, warmly…
— C.Birde, 2/18