Morning Things

I sat in my yard this morning savoring the last couple chapters of The Bean Trees with my morning cup.  A gentle breeze tousled my hair.  The sun shone on my feet.  'Round the bend I could hear my children, quiet as rustling cottontail's, doing morning things.

Then I moved into the day, which is to say I unwound the hose and watered my garden, snipped the spent delphinium, wound the unruly curls of lengthening beans and peas up the trellis, ran my fingers over the lemon balm and paused to breathe.  

In my mind the lines of a song on repeat.

I ain't looking forward.  I ain't looking back.  

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