Black Keys Melody

Hello Little Beautiful,  Welcome Home.  Tonight while we were listening to our favorite radio program--I wonder if you can remember it now--you fell fast asleep on the couch. I got up, but you stayed sleeping. Your hair which seems so neat and tidy during the day always grows full and fuzzes out while you sleep, clinging to your face and sticking to the pillows and cushions as your head lulls back and forth with every deep breath.  I made tea, careful to keep the kettle from whistling and waking you.  It hasn't rained in at least two weeks, and the change seems to mark the true beginning of summer. The unforgiving recession of winter and the drastic overhaul of spring seem to end in a lingering ellipses, not an omission but a pause. Before the heat of summer comes to bear in full force, there is a short space of calm between the wet and the heat. Maybe its the weather's confusion, but it feels to me, like clarity.  The dark outside our door was a blur of shade and light. I sat