Mr. W was napping laying on his right side over his bed with the bedroom windows (directly behind the head of his bed) open. After finishing my last blog entry, I gently laid down in front of him, curled into a ball so that I’d fit neatly into the S-curve in front of his body, my back to his front. He woke up anyway. A breeze lifted a few strands of my hair along with the gauzy antique gold curtains. “I love laying here with the breeze coming in,” he murmured.
“And the curtains flapping,” I added and he agreed. I continued, “Like the gentle fluttering of a mosquito’s wings as it flies away from –”
“– a fly swatter,” we said simultaneously.
“…and my OFF! spray,” he concluded.
I giggled at the analogy. “I wanna go write this down,” I said. Without opening his eyes, he lifted his left elbow up, away from my ribs, and I slid out from underneath his left arm to write this post.