There’s a chill in the air this morning. Can you feel it? It’s early enough that the dew is still fresh on the grass. Breathing makes the widows in the sun room steam up, and I put my favorite wool sweater on over my pj’s.
There’s a little girl who has just learned to open the door on her own. She’s the independent type, she has to reach up a bit over her head to get the door knob. Once or twice gets her morning hair tangled in her hand and around the knob.
She gets herself outside while her mother is making coffee in the kitchen down the hall.
Outside she ran across the grass to a patch of yellow flowers. “Dandelions” she whispered to herself. Her tiny finger reached out and pressed down on one of the Dandelions leaves. The dew, like a diver in a competition jumped off the leaf and splashed her face. She giggled and looks up at her mom.
Her mother is frightened at this new turn of her daughters growing up, and doesn’t know whether or not to set down rules. Should she be allowed to go outside on her own, or should she be punished for not asking permission first?
Mother takes her coffee out on the front step and watches her daughter. The Sunday morning ritual seems to change a bit again as she watches her daughter grow up.
I have given myself permission to write more than journals and morning pages. It’s exciting and frightening at the same time.