Finally home after a 12-hour workday, I flop on the hammock. It’s almost dark, and Tom is grilling. He uses a clip-on light to see what he’s flipping. Two lamb chops (for him), portobello mushrooms and zucchini for Celia and me. From time to time there’s a flare of orange light — our grill is a feisty thing — which brightens the deck. I feel lazy lying in the hammock. But not lazy enough to get up and move. Instead, I watch the color disappear from the leaves. As I swing, they fade to black.