I spy on them through the study window. Tiny, dirt-caked legs racing. They search for worms and rocks and treasures. One pantless and the other clothed in mismatched pajamas.
The tiny one carries a Ziploc baggy full of water, and the oldest totes a steak knife. Hmm. They place both objects on the red, lawn chair (whew!) and board the swings.
Little legs pump and loud voices screech out round after round of “Happy Birthday”.
Excellent song, even if your birthday is seven months away.
The ordinary arts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest. —Thomas More