Here Comes the Sun

January 9, 2019
This morning I was arrested by an epiphany:
Some years ago my son gave me the highlighted art. We all know how quickly the sun moves on.  As do sons.  And opportunities to say thanks. So I hastened for my cellphone camera. How dearly I wanted to capture the moment, send it from my heart to his.
Books and birds, yes.  Other day I found a feather rising pristine from the St. Augustine.
I gathered it, giving thanks for the bird who was pleased to spare it for my enjoyment. (White-winged doves annoy me; knowing this reactive part of myself, I try to catch them being good!)
Ah, but then I found another feather, and another…seems this unfortunate had been exploded and taken away from our front yard, leaving only a flurry of feathers.  Whether it was a thunderbolt from above, or a cat come a-creepin, I don’t know.  At any rate I didn’t want the original feather anymore, so I returned it:
Yesterday morning I kept granddaughter Amelia.  Such joy to have sunshine and warmth enough to take this one-year-old outside and let her crawl.  My friend calls Amelia ‘the ever dutiful and ever diligent investigator,’ which is exactly what she is. Such wonders she found.  Her favorite was acorn caps;  I watched like a hawk, as she’s still inclined to pop interesting things in her mouth.
Her granddaddy came over; we delighted Amelia by playing ten minutes of ‘kick Amelia’s new soccer ball back and forth.’  Our audience of one shrieked with laughter, but I noticed it was only when I kicked the ball.  True, Honey is not very coordinated.  But I did improve as the game unfolded.
She gave Granddaddy some adorable looks, including her latest face–a droll comical O with her mouth.

Author: Phoebe Dishman

Phoebe H. Dishman was born and raised in Beaumont, Texas. She is a wife, mother, and grandmother. An essayist and poet, she teaches adult Sunday school, compiles a monthly prayer calendar, edits the Big Thicket Association quarterly bulletin, and keeps a keen eye and ear open for birds.

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