Sometimes you dream a photo and it comes to life right in front of your very eyes.
I never grow tired of this scene! Give little Wallace a screwdriver and a few rocks and he will entertain himself while the girls and I plant seedlings.
Right now we’re still bringing the baby plants inside at night, but during the day, it is a perfect plant nursery and toddler playpen.
Why all the embarrassment
about being happy?
Sometimes I’m as happy
as a sleeping dog,
and for the same reasons,
and for others.
— Wendell Berry
“Given: Poems,” Shoemaker & Hoard, 2005: page 10.
I’m cleaning up —
finding tiny morsels of dollhouse food,
blobs of modeling beeswax
wedged into the rug.
Picking up pieces before I vacuum —
I begin to notice scraps of knitting:
a blanket here,
a scarf there (little, doll size),
a wash cloth,
These bits of her handwork,
these minuscule stitches knit on size 1 or 2 needles (sometimes even on toothpicks) —
there is a certain beauty in their simplicity,
a piece of her captured in the even patterns.