Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Intentions

Misty Morning

It is morning.  Before I even open my eyes I have the very best of intentions: Amabel and I will do a language lesson and walk the dogs before Ellen wakes; then we'll make breakfast, start laundry, and tidy up; the girls and I will read together; and then maybe I'll sneak into my office for a bit of work.  

Girls

But then I see the day.  The hills are covered in a delightful mist that is sure to lift before noon, and so I revise my plan.  We'll go outside first.  We'll go out to feed the chickens and then take a little walk.  A short walk.

Knapweed

But our short walk turns into a long meander, because the girls want to go pick cherries and it is just so lovely outside.  Last week, when we were looking for mulberries, Amabel discovered a sort of miniature cherry tree, standing alone in a quiet meadow.  To the south, our neighbor farmer owns hundreds of acres of orchards that stretch out over the hills.  But this lonely tree stands apart, looking as if it was left behind long ago. . .

Amie Spots the Tree

Or perhaps it was not left behind.  Maybe it has simply been waiting for someone to discover it.  Maybe it has been waiting for two little people . . . because it is, after all, just their size!

There it is.

Shades of Red

Their little hands are soon busy, picking.  Their little mouths are busy, chattering.  Tasting.  Comparing notes.  Are they ripe?  A little sweet.  A little sour.  Yes, they are ripe.

Within Reach

Fill it Up

Children's Cherry Tree

By now I have lost all track of time, and my morning intentions have floated far out of my consciousness.  I am in the meadow with girls, dogs, and tall, waving grasses.  I am surrounded by bird song, moist air, and happy, chirping voices.

I can reach!

Jar Full

The language lesson, the cleaning, the work: it can all wait.  And now there are cherries for breakfast.

Can I eat all these?

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