I just kept moving from one thing to another and I hung the clothes on the line and gathered them in, the towels rough and sweet. I folded them and put them in the basket and brought them in and put them away. I took the trash and the recycle and I went by the post office. I trimmed the sago palms and the Canary Island date palms and I noticed something today that I have never noticed before which is what the sago's new fronds look like as they unfurl.
I do not know. But now that I have, I hope to remember it every spring, to note it, to admire it, to enjoy it.
I went next door to the abandoned house and dug up a ginger lily and purloined hydrangea blooms.
I didn't get the breakfast dishes washed until just a few minutes ago. So what? So what?
And now my husband is home and he is happy after spending a day with Vergil and Jessie and helping them with their house. And look what he brought me.
"I stole them," he said and I laughed.
Stolen flowers are making my house beautiful. And no one in this world will suffer for their loss but oh, how I am loving their presence here.
I have enough leftovers from last night to make another shrimp salad for us and there will be sweet yellow cherry tomatoes and the still-warm-from-the-sun cucumber in it. There will be bread.
That's it. That has been my perfect day.
Dirt and light and chickens and cat and plants, and rosemary oil and Dr. Bronner's soap sprayed on bean plants. The coolness of water through a hose, sprayed upon thirsty plants. Laundry hung on a line. A body that did not grow weary or overheated. Not once.
Very few words were involved. Not spoken ones, at least. I have kept constant quiet counsel with myself and this little bit of land I get to tend.
Peace. Contentment. Sweetness.
A day so ordinary that it could easily slip by unnoticed and un-noted. But so representative of the things I love that I can not let it do so.
And there it is- this small story of this small day.
Thank you for sharing it with me.