Sitting on the tailgate watching the stars emerge from their hiding places in the sky.
Between the branches they come around one after another.

Like disorganized fire ants at a picnic.

I watched their tiny circus act till my eyelids were too heavy to hold up.
My concrete bridges over Fox river eyes.

I slept on the bed liner and woke the morning to a pair of squirrels playing target practice with pine cones.
The first making its mark on the hood of my truck, awakening me with a start.
Only to end in laughter when I saw the guilty parties scurry away.

Some good days begin with laughter.