The spiny trees are bare save a few renegade brown leaves. The chilly wind is rattling the world beyond my windows and small things dance to a frenzied, little tune. On the edge of my desk, the sprawling plant is mixing and mingling with the paint brushes and peacock feathers that fill a glass vase. It’s chaotic and beautiful. Inspiring and calming. Light filters through curved glass bottles that bounce and reflect light from the thick grey sky.
Fresh fruit fills a wire basket on the table speaking of provisions and how we shall not want.
Baby girl empties a soft basket of toys, near the warmth of the fire, she studies each piece with her hands and mouth.
Trucks are vrooming in the next room, so I scoop her up for our favorite part of the morning. Today, she doesn’t sit still as he’s trying to kiss the top of her head. He looks like a turtle, head bobbling around seeking its target. She pulls herself up on the bedside table and every time, he is still shocked. He looks at me, his eyes asking, did you see what she did? Maybe, he still remembers us bringing home that little baby who was too young to play. Now she follows him around and watches his every move and tries to eat his cars and can’t wait to greet him in the morning.
First, I see her grow through my own eyes and then all over again through his.
we shall not want.
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