Pulling out five bags of random, frozen things, putting them in a crock pot, adding some salt and putting it in the fridge for tomorrow's supper.
Planting all the herb seedlings.
A little bird trusting us enough to stand on a stick we're holding.
A little girl who asks me to tell her something else about God, something else about what I did when I was a girl, so I tell her:
-I made my sisters smear a peach on their faces to be in my club
-I roamed the "side hill" all summer long, finding broken glass and metal left behind by the first settlers and trails left by the horses
-I played the flute in band
-I would spend whole days reading in bed
Kneeling at the screen door at night while the warm breath God sends across this land lifts your hair and lifts your life into something deeply placed and real and speaking without words.
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