April 11, 2010 - Grass Beneath Her Feet

When the air turns warm, when the frost puts on its last disappearing act, when little green heads start to peek out from their hibernation dens, my heart stirs. In my garden, I find myself. There surrounded by friends whose names my husband can never remember, like vinca major and astilbe and viburnum, I breathe a little deeper and move a little lighter. Funny, one of the things Georgia already finds the most interesting is the plant sitting on the counter in our home. She never misses a chance to touch it. Maybe she has a little of me in here there.

Today, I immersed her in plants. I've missed my sleepy little wonders, and it was time to help them awaken and clean up their homes.

Georgia was there to watch with her steady gaze as I straightened and pulled and cut. She even tried to help me with a dried branch.

And she reached her hand down to caress the grass like it was a friend she was trying to remember. OK, and then she yanked a handful of it out, but for a moment I swear she was loving on those leaves.

Isn't the lack of baby wrists just divine? Just how the baby chubbiness tumbles down the arm and then the hand begins, and somewhere in there and underneath it all the wrist temporarily gets lost. I love my daughter's baby wrists, or non-wrists. But I digress.

So in a cushion of grass, mommy and daughter just sat for a while and watched the clouds lumber by and listened to the sounds of spring awaken around our neighborhood, and I think we both were breathing a little deeper today.