There isn’t much to write about tonight.
The clouds went away again as the evening cooled
and the condensation disappeared into thin air.
Stars dot the night sky even though the forecast calls for rain.
Not much going on.
You came home from work with a headache,
and I massaged your neck until it eased,
and we watched a movie about staying young.
Now, bedtime, and you’re scratching my back
and giggling about ice cream sandwiches,
as I type this, my head in your lap.
Nothing, really to say.