
Wow! 69 degrees, warm and beautiful. The sky was beautiful and the cows were gathered in a huddle at their usual coffee clatch, when I was on my way home from work. They seem to have alot to talk about when it is warm outside. When it is cold or rainy, they seem to scatter throughout the entire grassy glenn. Yesterday, I wanted to listen in on their gossip, I kept heading home, though.
The clouds were waltzing across the sky leisurely. They obviously had been busy, lately; were not on assignment and were enjoying the vacation day that they had. I felt like I was on vacation when I looked at them for the second 15 minute break that I lassoed myself outdoors to see the sights. I had almost missed it for my introverted habit. It is so interesting how the cold, hibernation habit can make you miss the one day of Springlike weather that could delight us. I didn't miss it. I looked at the weather on my computer. 69 degrees? I am going out to the courtyard.
The courtyard is so beautiful with pansies that defy the weather patterns. The snow killed my pansies long ago and my peach tree is touch and go. I brought it inside, but that one snowfall seems to have been all that it could handle. I certainly hope not. I did love it so. It is looking very dead. Not at my courtyard at work. It is ever blooming and delighting my heart and my pen with sights and thoughts. I see the flowers and the birds, the ants and the beauty as though I am a part of them. Everyday, I try to write to my Ezra about the sights of my courtyard. I use AA Milne as a guide in this. The story of him is that he was an alcoholic and wrote to Christopher Robin about his life through his Winnie the Pooh. My favorite of his is "Now We are Six". I am a bit melancholy that I have been writing about being six, all these years and now that my baby boy is six, I am still not finished writing about being six.
They get so old after six. They get so lost in reality after six. I will keep finding a six year old to love and write to, even after this year of my last boy being six. We spent 5 or six minutes talking about the beauty and wonder of his birth, last night. I love that gleam in his eyes when this big boy thinks about being born and 5 tiny pounds of delight to our family. When will I stop being the shortest in the family, he said. I don't know. I hope it will be a while that you will still be little. It is so hard to watch them grow away.
No comments:
Post a Comment