A WEEK in the world of seersucker and pastels
and I have no idea what time it is.
Kale came in the box of local produce and I work with it for the first time in my life while nap is in session one day.
I get close up to life, close enough to, steady-handed, capture remnants of rain from the previous night when we sat out on the screenporch, watching a light show in the sky.
I get to do my daily bucket of weeds, watched over by bee balm standing tall. Something in the garden smells good, but it’s 4 days and I still haven’t figured out what. One of life’s mysteries I may need to accept and find out the answer on the other side. Add it to the list.
I have a Fried Oyster BLT Salad and piece of lime pie at girl’s night out.
I am asked to make a book on construction paper, using crayons, and must scramble to figure out what in the world a knight looks like.
Someone is fetching me homegrown rhubarb to take back to Ohio.
I have not forgotten the story I am to tell and will. And Honduras is on the horizon but there’s time to prepare for that.
The neighborhood mowers have begun again. What time is it? What day? Will a first tooth break through today or tomorrow?
Writing from a place where a first tooth is headline news.