8 Sep 2014

Full of glad

Spring enfolds us in sunlight and blossoms - creamy jonquils and natives I don't know the names of... the farmer's market on saturday morning is brimming with hats and sandals and pots of hellebores and crocuses (remember those lush crocuses that would appear in the grass in France)... We lick frozen juice ice blocks and chat about chickens... We wrap gifts for father's day and prepare a big batch of rocky road (with homemade marshmallows)... Next morning we prepare a special breakfast of buttermilk pancakes with bacon, fried tomatoes, strawberries and maple syrup.  We shower him we love with kisses and our gifts laced with brown string and toddler-painted labels. We church and take our lunch out to the property we plan to grow our farm. In the shade of old old gum trees we eat and rest and talk with friends. We ramble over rocks, we soak in magnificent views of sweeping gorge, running river, rolling hills... We draw with our fingers the outlines of a orchard, vegetable gardens, grazing routes for cows and patches for cutting hay. We dream of a house nestled in the hill and the thought of watching a day of light fall against the rocks. A hawk soars in circles above us... For almost an hour we stand by the water and throw stones - delighting in the bubbles and ripples each splash makes. We walk until we're out of breath and I carry all fifteen kilos of boy up hill till my heart's racing in my chest. We close the weekend with boundary lines on a map and kinship by the fireside. We drive home in the dark, tired and full of glad...

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