I am watching him sit in the spring woods.
Light, filtering through newly budding trees.
Light so brilliant. So fleeting.
Tiny blooms cover the forest floor. Violets. Spring beauties. Trillium. Trout lillies. Where do they come from? Where do they go?
A carpet of vibrant green has emerged from brown earth. Green today. Brown again tomorrow.
This light, these flowers, the green — it will all fade away when the leaves fill out. The woods will transform into a place of dark and deep.
But, today, we have this.
Have you read “The Story of the Root Children” by Sibylle von Olfers? It is a beautiful classic children’s book. Amabel says Wallace looks like a “root child” in his brown wooly suit.
And today he did indeed look like he crawled out of the pages of that story land.
Picking dutch man’s britches in the evening light — wearing her boots, her jammies, and “mama’s cloak.”
Why does she call it a cloak? I love that she calls it a cloak.
I find myself taking an extra lot of photos of her lately. Is it my way of meditating on her? She seems to be wanting something more from me. Always wanting. Wanting.
I am trying to hold the space.
Letting her want.
Wanting to give. But not always to give what she wants.
This spring weekend together was a gift.
Witch caves. Fairy houses. Piles of acorns, rocks, and juniper berries. Gousty treasures.
The girls are barefoot for the first time this year. And those toes have grown so much since the last time I saw them outside, kissed by the earth.
I found these miniature flowers growing under a cherry tree in the orchard this afternoon. What are they? Just a little patch of weeds? I think they may be the only thing blooming outside in all of Northern Michigan.
About two hours after my walk in the sun, clouds rolled over and it began to snow like crazy. April fools from the weather man: you thought it was spring?!