It’s summer vacation, in all it’s glory and gory.
Yesterday we mowed the lawn. The boys and I took turns, and I marveled at how far we’ve come from a bouncy seat perched on the porch to almost-brawny kids pushing that roiling machine. Now those babies have balance and muscles.
More than anything, it’s the mundanity of seasonal days that marks the passing of time for me. Summer heat brings shimmering memories of sandbox hours, goldfish crackers on wee wobbly lawn chairs, dapply sun on the dry dirt of the road. Popsicles melted down small arms. Ice cream eaten on the picnic table. Library books spread on blankets in the yard.
I found this while mowing: a delicate nest swirled out of horse hair. Carly, Molly, Calico – they’re all in there. The nest was in the borderland between lawn and woods, lying empty on the grass, any babies long since flown. Treasure. T brought it to the mudroom. Our mudroom has deep windowsills perfect for holding tools of various kinds. Like screwdrivers and lavender plants. And now a nest. Framed by a windowpane. Looking out on the yard in all its layers of seasonal boys.