Here I am, in my happiest of April places. Feeling the sun warm me, warm the earth, warm the baby plants. Smelling the greenhouse smell that I long for all winter long.
Ich bin, du Ängstlichen, Horst du mich nicht
I am, you Anxious one.
Don’t you sense me, ready to break
into being at your touch?
My mumurings surround you like shadowy wings.
Can’t you see me standing before you
cloaked in stillness?
Hasn’t my longing ripened in you
from the beginning
as fruit ripens on a branch?
I am the dream you are dreaming.
When you want to awaken, I am that wanting:
I grow strong in the beauty you behold.
And with the silence of stars I enfold
your cities made by time.
— Rilke’s Book of Hours
For the past few Easters I have make a tiny egg hunt for the mice and all the other little creatures that live in our house. And I realized this year that this mini hunt has become a beloved tradition for the girls. I try to pay attention to these things: the things they remember, the things they tell stories about, and especially the things they describe to Wallace. He takes it all in with such wonder and joy.
Wallace, surrounded by his cousins, at Gousty.