When the week is gone I count my labors, my ledger holding hours and pages of words, I can only wonder at what these hours have cost me. Saturday is my sole leisure, my walks criss-cross the town, in greasy twilight I return home with the sun's warmth buried into the back of my neck. For supper I ate warm bread, tomatoes from the garden, simmering pottage and several glasses of lemonade. The fading orange glow of sunset peers in through the open windows, as I saunter stoop-shouldered to the back porch and sit at the top step. Her legs wrap around my waist as she pours a basin of tepid water over my head and rubs soap into my scalp with strong bread-kneading fingers. The smell of her arms is sweet grass and perfumed sweat, she leans in close and I feel her heart throb through the thin material of her shirt. A great weariness fills my chest, and I long for sleep, the warmth of the day has left its imprint on my skin and soul on a brisk Spring day. My eyes close as the stars creep out from behind a darkening blue curtain, a toddler sits at my feet and tugs at my long toes, giggling.