as i sit here and write this post, dylan sits on the table i want to write a story, so he does. elle reads from the book we bought at the library that was sitting on the shelf on our way out, wildflowers - what a score. the smell of pizza fills the house as it bakes in the oven, covered with the mozzarella that was made this morning and bought at the farmers market. it is almost quiet something that has been absent since the children got here. nearly impossible to get or ask for but i have craved it so. the clouds have disappeared leaving behind humidity seldom found on the hill. after lunch we take a walk behind the house to the top of the hill, a daily rituals. then we will tend to the tiniest garden ,weeds will be plucked neat rows will emerge, we will try to copy a trellis made out of discarded branches to define the little patch. then we will throw down grass seed, even though it is summer now on the bare patch so in the fall the ducks and chickens will have more to play with. when we come back inside, we will try for quiet time, just an hour of reading or napping, or writing this hour usually ends up being the loudest. one can only hope it works this time.
* elle in her new dress, how i wish they made it in my size.