July has brought a flurry of activity and duties. Canning. Does it ever end? Does every wife that preserves in the summer feel the same way that I'm feeling?
There aren't enough hours in the day, and so day stretches into night. He lingers in the kitchen, staying up much later than he should because he must go to work in the morning. He kisses the back of my neck, arms around my waist, asking "How much longer", without speaking a word. I finally convince him to sleep without me. Many nights, and wee into the morning I sit on a kitchen stool and listen to the ch, ch, ch of the pressure regulator rocking back and forth atop the canner, my body longing to crawl into bed next to his.
Finally, I finish, turn out the lights and tiptoe. Carefully, I climb into bed. He has to wake early, and I fear disturbing him. He finds me, though I didn't make a sound. His knees tuck into the back of mine, his breath on my neck, his arm around my waist, and his hand holds mine.