Tender Mercies

What I want especially to remember today:

Lying on the couch at Lily's house, Gibson at the other end. The TV was on, Sponge Bob was making us laugh, I was reading short stories by Jill McCorkle, Owen was sitting on the floor in front of the couch working on making a pot holder with the loom his mama bought him a few days ago and taught him how to use. I set my book down and drowsed a little and woke up to find Owen putting the afghan over me. He turned out the light over my head and went and fetched a small reading lamp and plugged it in and put it on the end table so that if I wanted to read, I would have a more comfortable lighting situation. I thanked him so and he settled back down to his pot holder, choosing colors and working carefully.
I think I felt as peaceful and cared for as any child whose parent is watching over her, tenderly, and with love.

Yes. It was a backwards moment, in a way.
But my god. The sweetness of that child. I can't even find the words to express how I felt.
And I never want to forget that.

Here. Pictures from my yard just now as the sun goes down.

Light through magnolia leaves. Stained glass every afternoon.

Some of the chickens. Nicey, Camellia, Chi-Chi, Cha-Cha, Mick, Butterscotch, Lucille.

 A close-up of my poor plucked-looking Camellia. Her feathers are coming back in.

Looking up to the Spanish Moss in the front yard oak.

My familiar, always curious to see just what it is I am doing.

Across the street, the setting sun painting everything with shadows, with light.