wall of hymns over our sofa
it's supposed to be seventy this weekend, but right now it's misty and cloudy in my corner of carolina. it's so gloomy out that the owl who perches on the old swing outside my bedroom window, the one i nicknamed peter, was nowhere to be found when i rose this morning and stretched against the pane.
though we've been here almost a month and half, i haven't really gone out into the backyard for the blanket of chill that has laid itself across these grounds. but i remember it. one hot evening in summer when i was in middle school, i sat cross-legged on the grass and found about 10 four-leaf clovers. i pressed them into my bible and ran in to tell my parents. now they are crumbled stems between the pages, traces that remind me of all that was good and beautiful about being young, and all that is sweet and sacred about being here, in this same house, so many moons later.
but tomorrow, we will go back there. past the place where the see-saw used to be. the rusty one nanno salvaged from the church yard sale. i will decorate the old shed with christmas lights and dust off the picnic benches. we will pick out a spot for our honeybees and dig our hands into the earth to prepare it for our garden. today reminds me that winter is still here in all her frosted glory. but springtime is quick on her heels, bearing clover and crocuses, bare legs and painted toes. and hopefully, the return of peter.