The hum of the lawn mowers both ours and the neighbors leaves us talking in loud squawks to each other, blowing bubbles on the porch. I can tell they’re giggling by their faces even though I don’t hear them well, it’s the shape of their mouths, the way their eyes glitter in the the last dashes of sunlight as the evening storm rolls in like a blue-gray blanket.
Their bare feet scuff the concrete and pink soft skinned toes a loud contrast to the grit of the ground. These two are all rose petals and silk compared to their brothers, who are more sand and grit. And it doesn’t matter that we look like lip-readers on the porch to everyone else.
No one can hear anything but words are practically a waste in moments like this anyway. I don’t have to shout to express my joy in watching them. We are communicating loud and clear.
They smirk at me when I snap pictures, the little one squeals and I know how loud she can be, but I hear it in whispers this evening.
The way they move, their arms flapping at bubbles drifting quickly up to thundering skies, they dance an evening jig of joy uninhibited, as neighborhood men, push loudly around the yards.
Their joy screams at the top of it’s lungs and I’m soaking it in because too often I forget to play.
Our lives are filled with the loud noises of living, the chaos of four children, the noise of jobs and motherhood and the world, some days it’s so loud I can’t hear myself think, but despite the mowers and the thunder rolling overhead I hear the only thing that matters in these last moments of the day–I hear joy, I hear love.
And no ones is saying a thing.
We play with words on Friday’s, Lisa-Jo gives the prompt and we cut ’em loose for five minutes, without editing, without stressing, just pure fun. Join us~
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