Image courtesy of Molly Carlisle
By 8 o'clock on a Summer evening we darken the shades. Turn on a fan. I close the doors, wash up my boys and we read stories. Then it is bed. And once in awhile I can sit on the front porch with my eyes closed and enjoy the silence (coming from my kids at least). The peace. They used to protest. But they fall asleep quickly.
Bed in Summer
by Robert Louis Stevenson
In winter I get up at night
And dress by yellow candle-light.
In summer, quite the other way,
I have to go to bed by day.
I have to go to bed and see
The birds still hopping on the tree,
Or hear the grown-up people’s feet
Still going past me in the street.
And does it not seem hard to you,
When all the sky is clear and blue,
And I should like so much to play,
To have to go to bed by day?