today i'm unwrapping the gift of simple joys.
of quiet morning runs, the road snaking out into the sun, a bracing wind, leaves shivering on their branches.
of lilies the color of creamsicles.
of unexpected notes from friends who live entirely too far away.
of calamine lotion. (i am currently sporting twenty-two itchy welts, almost all on my stomach, and i cannot adequately extol the calming properties of that pastel liquid. i'd like to swim laps in the stuff.)
of things that green up and grow all by themselves because The Someones Who Lived Here Before Me were smart enough to plant them just right.
of freshly rinsed cherries.
of offspring who fold their own laundry.
of brown bean chowder and clementines and cornbread.
of festive occasions where one can make pippi dolls for a darling four year old.
of a pool we fill and empty and drag around and fill, so as to kill our backyard grass evenly.
of an uncle who turns out to be a best friend, and of best friends who feel like home.
of relentless, miraculous grace.
more everyday wonder here:
the closed door and sweet surrender
2 hours ago