Autumn Whisper

I am loading the car. He is buckling the baby into his car seat. The windshield is dewy and opaque. He walks around the car towards me and takes me in his arms. I smile. He is so warm. His eyes, set off by the green t-shirt, are level with mine.

We draw a face in the glass between us and the baby. I draw the eyes. He draws the gaping grin. All the parts run as if the absurd smiling face is weeping. His arms wrap around me once again. I say something. He says something. We laugh. The air is too cool, but I feel so warm. He says that we are funny. I don't know why; I think we are perfect and not funny at all. Just happy. The baby yells at us. We make silly faces at him from our embrace. I inhale. Beautiful. Crisp. Autumn. I exhale a little cloud. The change of season, incarnate.

I glance at the merry marigolds, all dressed in the most appropriate colors. The lawn is littered with children's playthings and the sunshine is seeping through the trees, highlighting the mists. And I am here. In his arms.

Is there a moment more beautiful than this, I wonder.