Riding the old yellow Cub Cadet, I mow long rectangles around the back fields. Out in the garden, between me and the road, my husband works with the kids, tying short, thick tomato plants to their stakes with long strips of cotton.
From where I sit, rattling and humming along on the old mower, the boys are bright, little flowers that have sprouted legs, walking, tumbling, running through the garden in their shirts of bright teal and red. My husband is the tallest flower, an iris perhaps, overseeing the work and play.
The twins flop and hop climbing and falling on each other and by the time I move on to mowing the front, circling the overgrown bushes, they’ve pulled my husband down to the green grass. He is a horse now, crawling along with two cowboys astride until they all tumble again to the earth.
This post is linked with Jennifer Dukes Lee. She's telling a lovely story this week about life and death and kittens, so pop over to soak in some sweetness.