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The children are at the pool diving, dumping, dunking with their Daddy.

I have pressed send on emails, updated my calendar, continued the never ever ever ever ending laundry cycle, picked up the play area, and am now sitting beneath swaying pines being eaten by mosquitoes bred from my boy’s backyard ‘water experiments’. I’m taking in the outside, waiting on the family to leave the pool and bring me dinner from a drive through.

The evening’s plans changed unexpectedly, and dinner needed to be picked up.

It happens.

The wind is blowing.

Air moving through trees is my variety of happy. There’s a power and an ease that comes when woods rustle and stir.

It reminds me that there is much more to the world than what we can see.

*****

Now I’m sitting here, groggy, a bit hurried, feeling the fringe of Tuesday creeping. We’re on the flip side.

The wind is still wooing me, fanning the morning.

Bits of sun are striking pieces of the backyard and it makes me glad that it is day.

Mornings are sacred. No matter our occupation, situation, bent – they should be reveled and revered, taken in slowly, respected.

The boys have left bunks earlier than normal. They are trying not to talk to me, knowing that I’m writing, knowing that I could really send their bums back to bed for a while. But a conversation has ensued anyway.

There’s a woodpecker mining for breakfast in the neighbor’s piney backyard. He is filling up for a swooping day. I’m glad I’ve let the boys meander out early. They are zoned in on the pecking and delighted they get to witness it.

Allowing kids to discover, to stumble upon, to unearth on their own – this is crucial to their development and creativity.

I have all of five minutes before the day flies high.

Breakfast, dishes, cleaning, piano lessons, dance class – they are inching closer as the sun rises.

I’ll be looking for the miraculous in the mundane today. I could use a surge of something good and special.

I’ll be praying it for all of us.

 

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