Solace is a Wave, or a Cricket

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I sit in the car, waiting for my girls. They're practicing for an October production of the opera Tosca. The sun is warm on my knee and crickets trill in nearby woods. I am tired. Instinctively, my soul seeks solace-- from the breeze, shadows on maples and, yes, the crickets. Earlier today, my Littlest asked about "the year you sat outside." She wanted to know how long I sat each day and what I did. I told her it varied: twenty minutes, forty-five, an hour--or, who even knows, on the days when I fell asleep. I told her it was a great solace to sit outside and do nothing. So she packed a baggie of red-hot blue tortilla chips and found the red sled (which, she noted, is now pink from its extended tenure under the sun), and she sat beneath the pine. I am not sure she found any solace. Two mosquitoes finally pestered her back into the house. Now my Littlest is singing a Latin prayer and something in Italian. I cannot hear, as I am waiting outside. I wonder if she has found her solace in foreign words of operatic praise. As for me, solace is just now rustling in the trees. --- For this week's Random Acts of Poetry, write a brief poem using the word (or just the concept of) solace. Drop your link in any of my comment boxes by Wednesday August 25th for possible feature and definite links. Special thanks to Claire, Kelly and Sarah for inspiring me with their "solace" prompt over at 3 From Here and There...

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