The neighborhood Fourth of July fireworks ceased sometime during the night. Now, the only sounds are the intermittent birdsongs, the rustle of breeze-tussled leaves, and the hum of a dryer exhaust.

The sun approaches zenith. The last clouds dispersed. Sunlight-bathed blades of grass look a radiant green. The temperature and humidity continue to rise.

Yesterday, we had company; tomorrow, we sojourn for a short getaway. Today, relax where we are.

Home.

passing plane

and the woosh from

a steady breeze

this transient feeling

even home

for 4th July 2020 prompt: Gerry Muse #214 (occasional tanka prose)Where is Home?