Enveloped in a blanket of sauna,

the weight of humidity calms me.

Faint breezes bare relief only when I need it.

Our porch seems to sit like a tree house

Here in the branches of my childhood climbing tree.

A mourning dove sings in the distance,

Songs so familiar I hum them wherever I go.

She sings with robins, cardinals, and a gold finch

As they play peekaboo through the lilacs.

The fragrance is intoxicating,

Like a candle in a room with no windows.

Yet it stretches on to the corners of our yard.

No fences bind this suburban paradise.

Rays of sunset burn through the foliage,

Casting shadows on finished wood.

In my dreams this will be my resting place.