Tuesday, April 9, 2013
He came to me with his little hand cupped just so to protect it's precious cargo.
"Mom are these real?"
He had found a few windswept blossoms on the ground and was holding them gently as to not crush them, but firmly against the raging wind.
"Yes, they are real."
"But they are so...."
He paused to find the right word.
Indeed they were. The most perfect little blossoms.
The wind was so fierce yesterday the dust blotted out the sun. The smell of dirt hung in the air and everything was windswept. Including those perfect blossoms.
I came in to get out of the weather and he was soon to follow... with a little bouquet in his small hand. The first of the spring mini arrangements was made, working with what he had found in our now much smaller yard.
We talked about the parts of a flower. How different flowers were made. The open blossom and more protected cup of the grape hyacinths each having their own way. His curiosity for names and pictures sent us to the guides. We looked things up. Talked. Learned.
It was perfect.