Never since they were small children had they clustered about her so, and never since then had she been so aware of the smell of their hair, their softness, breathiness, abruptness. It filled her with strange elation, the same pleasure she had felt when any one of them, as a sucking child, had fastened her eyes on her face and reached for her other breast, her hair, her lips, hungry to touch, eager to be filled for a while and sleep.
She had always known a thousand ways to circle them all around with what must have seemed like grace. She knew a thousand songs. Her bread was tender and her jelly was tart, and on rainy days she made cookies and applesauce. In the summer she kept roses in a vase on the piano, huge, pungent roses, and when the blooms ripened and the petals fell, she put them in a tall Chinese jar, with cloves and thyme and sticks of cinnamon. Her children slept on starched sheets under layers of quilts, and in the morning her curtains filled with light the way sails fill with wind.

-Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping


"In summer the song sings itself."  

-William Carlos Williams


More Beauty, More Wild

The boys and I went on a day hike last week. We set out with water, granola bars, two cameras - one for me and one for Theo - and nothing but hope for a really good adventure. On the trail, Theo mostly stayed by my side. He's a budding photographer, already training his eye to see the world around him from a different perspective. While Sully is almost always twenty steps ahead and throwing something at something, Theo is paused, thinking, framing. It had just rained and the heavy canopy of dense clouds gave way to a blue sky with steam visibly coming off of the red rock. When Sully wasn't running or throwing found sticks and stones he was crouched over puddles, brimming with juicy pink worms, picking. All around us the constant din of our everyday was muted and replaced with a flutter of electric blue dragonflies and, overhead, the birds. Oh, the birds! Western bluebirds, magpies, the fancy performers - the tree swallows, and one beautiful female Stellar's jay. I was gobsmacked by the gorgeous blooms, most of which I could (sadly) not identify, along with a mental note to bump a western flower guide to the top of my purchasing list. The boys prayed, just prayed, they'd see a rattlesnake. (We didn't!) I prayed for more of this. More dry, clicking, high desert. More beauty. More wild.


I've also been meaning to pop in here and share some book recommendations. I have read so many good books in the past couple months, but these are the ones that I really loved.

Remembering Miss O'Keeffe: Stories from Abiquiu - Margaret Wood