Other than grass and mud, I don’t know what this is. Something important, though.
I only know that when I looked outside from the back door, I saw two kids sittin’ in the sunshine, quiet as the breeze, hand-plucking grass because…because they wanted to.
There wasn’t a whisper between them and I know I’d have watched their grass-pulling innocence for at least another minute…if…
if I hadn’t creaked the back step.
Only I did.
By which time both kids snapped from their private reverie to show me their grass collection.
My daughter had hers crammed in a yogurt cup.
And my son had his, well, over his face.
Uh…nevermind his sister’s pink snow boots.
Or the squirt gun he might’ve used to hose off his mother.
What mattered for the moment was how much peace and promise the sunshine brought.