Tag Archives: Sam

Day of Rest

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Today on Facebook, I joked “There’s a ‘Stop Time’ button on my oven. I’d probably use it, if it worked in the way I wanted it to. An eternal lazy sunny Spring Sunday? Yes, please!”

I wasn’t completely joking. I would like days like today to last a lot longer.

Eric and I were sitting in the backyard with the dogs, and he looked up and said, “the sky is so blue right now.”

He was right.

Later, he and the boys went inside, him because he wanted to take a nap after a long hike this morning, and them because when you’re wearing a full body fur suit it’s too hot to lounge in the sun for too long, and they also wanted to take a nap.

I grabbed my camera and went looking for signs of Spring in our backyard.

My lilacs went from tiny leaf buds just last week to full leaves, with blooms that look like fruit, some kind of grape or berry. The white one on the far right is going to once again be covered in blooms.

When I came back out to take pictures, look who followed me.

On this day of rest, I hope that you are noticing your own signs of Spring, new growth, fresh air, space, softening, a new beginning. I hope that your day has a feeling of endless ease, of time stopped, of contentment–whatever that might look like or mean for you.

Small Stones

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Love?

I’m brushing my teeth and Sam is pressing his head into my leg, one eye buried and the other looking at me in the mirror. I imagine that attention and longing as love for me, but my rational mind knows it probably isn’t.

What it probably is:

“Mom’s brushing her teeth, that means getting ready, that means a walk–I love walking”

or

“Mom’s brushing her teeth, that means brushing my teeth–I love the way the toothpaste tastes, like chicken” *drool*

Either way, I love the feeling of his head pushing against my leg, the weight and tangibility of that gesture, and the longing in that one eye, looking at me while I look back. It doesn’t have to mean love for him for it to mean that for me, to be love for me.

Heron

At first light, in the still dark of dawn, a heron flies overhead like some kind of prehistoric bat. It lands high in a cottonwood. I feel like I am walking in a dream, it’s so strange to see a heron perched so high, its form black against the dark blue sky.

picture by rhys asplundh

Signs of Spring at Lee Martinez Park

Grass greening up, trees budding out, sprinklers back on. Porta Potties gone, doors to bathrooms unlocked and water turned back on.

A warm wind and four tennis balls in the dog park, two laps around.The lightening flash of the backside of a White Tailed Deer excites Dexter, makes him pull at his leash. As soon as we are past it, he slows, stops and checks behind us, hoping to see it again.

People we’ve never seen out on bikes or running with their dogs.

A woodpecker flies into the metal dome covering the lights by the basketball courts and taps a message that echos out.

Confusion

The noise I first think is my neighbor moving her trash can to the curb is actually the robin back on the fence, flying against my window for the fourth morning in a row.

I wonder again if it’s one of the babies we “raised” last year. Has he found his way back? Will he find love?

one of last year's babies, having just learned to fly