The Rooster's Prayer

Reading in the morning, 

I am distracted by the light

that falls across the page,

across the room,

climbing down the wall 

as the sun rises.

Somewhere, a neighbor’s rooster 

crows, as I carry my little boy 

toward the bathroom where he stands 

on sleepy legs.  Maybe that song 

is his prayer, I think, as I carry 

this boy back to his bed, fix 

the pillow and blankets, 

and close the door.

Yesterday afternoon I stood 

in the kitchen cutting potatoes, 

eggs, cucumbers and onion and paused 

to call my husband, because

of the way the room was lit through 

the windows, the way the ceiling fan spun, 

fresh, the way I stood, happy 

and content in a farm house kitchen 

like so many women have before.   

This, I know, was my prayer.

Photo Credit: HERE.

Linking with Playdates with God and Unforced Rhythms. 

The Clever Crow

The clever crow

places her meal

on top of the utility

pole at the end

of the driveway.

The dead bird flops

awkwardly on its

round, wooden plate.

The crow comes

and goes, returning

as to a buffet, pulling

off the tastiest morsels.

Standing in the windows

we watch, bug-eyed

with binoculars, repulsed

and filled with admiration –

oh, that clever crow!

In the Garden (Playing)

Riding the old yellow Cub Cadet, I mow long rectangles around the back fields.  Out in the garden, between me and the road, my husband works with the kids, tying short, thick tomato plants to their stakes with long strips of cotton.

From where I sit, rattling and humming along on the old mower, the boys are bright, little flowers that have sprouted legs, walking, tumbling, running through the garden in their shirts of bright teal and red.  My husband is the tallest flower, an iris perhaps, overseeing the work and play.

The twins flop and hop climbing and falling on each other and by the time I move on to mowing the front, circling the overgrown bushes, they’ve pulled my husband down to the green grass.  He is a horse now, crawling along with two cowboys astride until they all tumble again to the earth.

 

There is such beauty there, in that wide open space, under the bright sun and blue and I am so thankful, for those flowers that grew in my body, for the legs they run on and for their father who plays with them there in the garden.   

This post is linked with Jennifer Dukes Lee.  She's telling a lovely story this week about life and death and kittens, so pop over to soak in some sweetness.