Sunday Evening

I told him to look manly. He said, "Don't I always?"


We smacked mosquitoes.



And pointed at birds.



Inspected the lettuce...



and the blooming peas.



Ventured into the golden wheat field at dusk.



(My mother would have put the sun at the tip of my nose, like Rudolph.
She did, in fact, do that once.
But mercifully, my husband did not.)



And called it a lovely evening indeed.