I fuss and fight and feel strained about my life and a headache forms, righthere to the left of my eye and throbs to pull my brain through with it. I hide from the sun as it makes the pain worse and my stomach it aches too and hours pass and I think “I’m cranky, when did I last eat?” and I realize a bag of chips in 12 hours does not a dinner make and my feet hurt to distract me from the waste of a heart hurt.
The air stops around us as we sit in the diamond shined grass next to the house, and I lounge there with cats surrounding and Rosalyn on my lap, watching Vivian hunting for insects, creatures, fairies, telling Rosalyn that no, grasshoppers are not carnivores.
I think to weeks back, walking home late night with my husband, dark through a wooden trail and seeing, for the first time ever, fireflies with my own eyes and the awe that filled my chest.
He stared at me with laughing eyes, disbelieving I had never seen, amused at my delight. Such simple, lavish delights.
It’s much to easy to get annoyed at not writing, at not having my dreams in the palm of my hand right.this.second, simple to sigh and slump in my chair, twirling hair in my fingers. It’s the simple route to forget the joys in front of me, these that my mother must have craved, sitting in her lap late summer evenings, listening to the sounds of the world around us.
So I laid back, grass in my hair, children upon me, a heap of arms and legs and bugs and cats. Looked up into the fading blue and thought,
and later, Vivian held wonder in her hands for the first time and I thought back to the first night I held stars like that, and I smiled.