It is hot enough that the smallest of baby hairs stick to your neck, but the breeze picks up and the beer is cold. One neighbor practices piano, badly. Another bikes down the street with “Sweet Thing” playing from his speakers, asks how y’all doin’ today with one hand raised hello like a flag. The dog sleeps, paws folded under her like a prayer. Your partner reads next to you, his knee against yours in a comfortable touch. The streetlamps come on, but it is still sunset. The world is a painting in the most beautiful pinks you could imagine.
Kirsten Reneau is a writer living in New Orleans. Her essay collection, Sensitive Creatures, is available now with Belle Point Press.