A Small List from a Hammock

Things I appreciated this afternoon, lying in the hammock in my brother's yard:

The creak of the ropes. The way the maple leaves move like they're whispering about me. My nephew running past with a garden hose, shrieking with joy. The smell of my brother's terrible barbecue, which is burning, as always.

A ladybug that landed on my wrist and stayed for almost a minute. The neighbor's radio playing a baseball game I don't care about, but the sound of the crowd is somehow comforting. A cold glass of lemonade sweating in the grass beside me.

My sister-in-law yelling "Food's ready, sort of!" from the porch.

I should get up. I'm going to stay one more minute. I want to remember this one, because it's so ordinary, and it's exactly what I hoped my life would feel like when I was a kid imagining being a grown-up.