Sunday Night

She has Dora the Explorer. I have the poetry of Raymond Carver. The other two are playing make believe with the rings Ella received from Grandma Barb yesterday for corn beef and cabbage dinner, which to my suprise, they loved. They dart by so fast i feel their wind, their shadows are on the wall. The sun is bright but dying down through the picture window. Everything is settling and carmelizing toward dusk. I’m glad for myself because I’ve already washed the dinner dishes. It’s cozy in this chair with Ada. She looks up at me and smiles, points to the “bow wow” with excitement and pride. Later, we will lay together. Her with “num nums” and me with spider fingers dancing across her back. We call it shimmers. That’s how this evening feels… shimmery, like hazy reality mixed with the average of 1,000 chill Sundays passed.