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"It's froggy outside," Max said with a yawn. He was sitting on our couch, looking out toward the valley with his eyes scrunched up, as if he could cut through the gray mist simply by squinting. "Maybe we better stay inside for awhile."
Curtains of fog hung heavy in front of our house yesterday, contrasted only by a darkening sky. Rain was coming. The air smelled of it. My right knee, broken at age eight while jumping on a neighbor's bed, was aching as it does whenever a storm is brewing. With days of warm sun and hours upon hours of outdoor play and exploration behind us, I was content to let the sky open up and begin dumping the first warm showers of the season.
It was a morning of moving slowly. I sipped tea and fussed with my sewing machine. Max stayed on the couch, resting with books and filling his blankie in on any and all adventures "he" may have missed earlier in the week. There was the many bird hikes (and bikes), with swamp discoveries.
There was the noise Lizzie made when she tried out the swing. (A Terodactyl noise. A very loud Terodactyl).
There was the great army battle (more on this another day).
Meanwhile, Elizabeth found her way out the front door. She sat for a long time, waiting for the rain to stop. Or maybe, just soaking in the very sight of water hitting earth, of the damp smells and warm breeze.
And by afternoon, the sun returned, bringing with it new energy to go foraging for leeks,
to play tag,
to work the flower beds,
to curl up on the porch and read the last (sigh) Percy Jackson book.
Everyone found a rhythm to get lost in on their own, but together. The best kind of day.
Happy Weekend. And PS-- come on over to Cluck and Tweet, where we've gone all Typepad fancy. Lots of crafting and cooking and funny business going on there. Really.