These are the nights I love to lie in bed and not sleep. The house is quiet, june bugs tap-tap-tap against the screen. The magnolia tree blows its perfumed breath into my room and I have an urge to run out and give her a thank you hug. A bullfrog down by the creek, a quarter mile away, serenades in his baritone of true love found and the thin air carries his song through the trees and across the yard. A choir of crickets joins on the chorus and the june bugs keep the staccato percussion time.
The full moon shines its spotlight on the performers and the magnolia rustles in applause. I lie and listen, lie and wait until the audience clamor dies down and the next song begins. It sounds much like the first song but it is different, a sadder tune of love lost and never regained, of heartache and loneliness.
My hair carries the magnolia’s scent …
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