My perfect place

The wooden
bench under me
creeks
in the breeze.
Moths
cling
to the light
in our windows
cicadas
buzz
and the crickets
chirp
the tune of night.
cold stones
under my feet
send a chill
up my neck
and down my arms.
Fireflies
flicker
on and off
the occasional shuffle
in the brush
widens my eyes
even though all I
can see
is the
stars
and the moon
shining over me
and my family
as if it meant something.
I yawn
and lean back onto
the old
rickety bench
making it creek.
my eyes shut.
I breath in the air
it smells
of moist
dirt
ceder
and the calorado
river.
this is my world
my ranch