I have been forbidding Mr. Moon to mow until after the purple violets made their appearance and they have and I picked these today over by the burn pile and the white ones in the yard by the bamboo which will soon begin to sprout.
I suppose he can mow now. All I wanted was that one tiny bouquet.
When I went to town at 1:30 this afternoon, there were no blooms that I noticed on the Bradford pears. When I got back three and a half hours later, there were blooms on them. A entire cloud of them on one side, where the sun touches the trees most intimately.
I swear to you this is true.
It is raining, finally. It was raining so hard when I left Publix that between the store and the car my empty egg cartons I stole from the recycling bin had become filled with water. The rain was coming down in drops more the size of the lemon kind than the rain kind. I drove home slowly, the back way and by the time I'd gotten half way home I'd outrun the rain but it caught up with us here, eventually.
I feel a tremulousness in the air or perhaps it is just in my mind. Either way, I will be glad to lay my head down tonight. I will think about this:
The picture Jessie and Vergil drew of their family to announce their pregnancy to Facebook friends.
I will think of a very small bouquet of violets in the glass votive which once held a candle from the grocery store in Cozumel where I always buy my candles, my dish cloths. And if in my dreams I travel from here to there and everywhere as I have been doing, I will try to keep these images in my mind to remind me that love has led to all of this and will, in fact, keep on leading me. Wherever it is I go. And I will land safely back into it, into love.
The rain sounds like blessings and I am sure that all of the violets I did not pick are having their velvet faces washed as tenderly as a mother washes her newborn's face, as tenderly as Jessie will one day, wash hers.