These days, I let the terrarium of plants í struggle to keep green take the chair on my porch.
I sit on the ground.
The flutters of distant, aluminum wings beating as car doors open and close.
The start of an engine rolls through the night air.
The cricket chorus sings the ambiance.
Cool, summer air.
A red light must have turned green.
Right, exactly now.
The peal of tires burning rubber hollers.
Then, just crickets.
My chest suddenly releases and breath flows into my lungs again.