Just Write {179}

March 17, 2015

We walked down the street to get the mail, no coats on. The sun shined and smiled on us all weekend and we soaked in the vitamin D, the fresh air, the soft breeze, every moment. We did nothing, which is everything, isn’t it? It is so hard to pout or fuss when the sun is smiling on you. Especially when you have lived many dark months, so much cold isolation.

Elsie ate an apple as we walked, her mud boots clomping, her teeth chomping. She looked up and smiled, turned around to look at her brothers and neighbor friends playing. She said, “We’re getting furder and furder….” (further and further)

Yes, we are, I said. Yes, we are. We just keep going, and we get there.

The mailbox held nothing much to be desired, as per usual. But Elsie thought it was the best trip down the street ever anyway.

Our house sits up on a small hill, on the right. Directly across is a blue house with a front porch and friends in it. We walked toward our two homes, watching the kids on the porch–my two boys, my friend Nichole’s three small ones, and Nichole. Soon they won’t be there, when the school year ends. This is the stuff of life, right? To have dear ones in your every day and then let go when the time comes. Goodbyes are hard even when it’s not for good. Come to think of it, they never really feel all that good, so I don’t know why they’re called that.

kiddosSpring

We have more time for now, before they move, and we revel in it, especially as the sun has come to warm up winter. I can’t help but wonder if that’s because our time is limited, so spring came early to gift us with extra days we wouldn’t have had. Our friends are being smiled on. We are being smiled on. This way, we stay outside together as much as possible. The kiddos drive the jeep and the buggy, they make up their games and pretend for hours. They plan “shows” for us that are put on in the garage, music blaring and streamers ripped into confetti.

Nichole makes half the meal and I make the other half–we toss it all toward the kids as the sun starts its descent. We are communal.

The kids beg for a few more minutes and we give them five more, tell them to put away all the toys and things. They do, mostly. And the sun starts to disappear over the horizon, fading but not frowning, and promising to come back.

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This is the 179th installment of Just Write, an exercise in free writing your ordinary and extraordinary moments. {New here? Please see the details.} I would love to read your freely written words so join me and link up below. You can add the url of your post at any time. Just be sure it’s a link to your Just Write post, not to your main page. (Then link back to this post in your Just Write post so people know where to go if they’d like to join in.) (Any links not following those two guidelines will be deleted.)

Also. Please take a moment to visit someone else who has linked up! It’s a really good way to meet new writers and get inspired by the meaning behind their moments. Word?

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