Look, Light

Dear Reader,

While I was sick, spring donned (will any other word do?) her frilly skirts. She has braided a crown of violets and dandelions, festooned the redbuds, and called for a dance.

The grass still has its youthful bounce, not yet touched by time or mower.

I don’t care if this is gushy and overblown. Word Raccoon and I have forgotten just how lovely the world is.

“Look, light,” WR said as we made our way out on a short errand.

The poetry virtual reading happened earlier, and while I was graciously once again offered time to read, I was only there to listen and support. The porch was the perfect place to listen until my feet decided to listen closer to the neighbor’s patch of violets. Then WR had her shoes on and was there, pacing along the treelawn. WR wants to know why they have so many flowers and we have so few, since they’re wildflowers.

I told her what does it matter whose they are, as long as they are there to be enjoyed, whiny varmint.

She said fine. She was really trying to keep to herself just how happy she is to see this profusion of color, as if someone had decorated for her.

But the poetry reading was wonderful. So many voices, so many topics, so many reading styles. Both familiar faces and new.

Ideas stirred in WR as she listened to others, ideas seemingly unrelated to their work entirely, which I find happens. I can’t explain it, but it’s true for me.

It’s not quite five yet, and WR and I are trying some porch time still. I have challenged her to stay upright and maybe do more than write little jags of poetry. Or maybe, I don’t know, submit something soon.

She says shush. Sometimes it’s just listening time.

That kid may be onto something.