The time I like the most.

The cool breeze ruffles through the open window and tickles the underside of the curtains. Afloat like a butterfly for a second than gradually brought back to place. It is nighttime and the crickets have awaken, as have the mosquitoes, though the smell of citronella burning has frightened most away. The gnats, flies, spiders have all gone to bed leaving me in the dark stillness interrupted only by the wind and the flickering of an oil wick. I rock in my hammock and stair through a peak in the roof to the blackness of the sky. I search for constellations. I find none, that I recognize, and am okay with that. I endure the itching of my skin riddled with bug bites and slapped by the sun. The towels are hanging on the line preparing themselves for groundhogs day tomorrow when they will see it all again. Déjà vu? My eyelids flicker shut, open, shut and I slip into dreamland, where in a drug induced daze I recount the dealings of the past day. Summertime is amongst us and it is the time I like the most.