{my topography}

We were driving home the other night and the moon was following us, the way the moon does. Playing peekaboo, a late summer moon like a milky porcelain saucer tangled between the branches of leaf-heavy trees and slumbering buildings.

Bean was nearly breathless, “It’s so bea-u-ti-ful!” he exclaimed.

And then, “I want to hold the moon, mama!” His voice full with urgent longing.

The beautiful boho girl tagged me with this meme: 8 random things you don’t already know about me:

• My first true crush (in fifth grade) was a boy who now plays in this band. We wrote letters all summer the year I moved away.

• I am obsessed with the “sticky note” widget feature on my computer.

• I cannot currently picture loving a second kid as much as I love Bean; cannot fathom my heart being big enough to contain this love, times two.

• People think I am both taller and older than I really am.

• If I were single and childless I’d be living in a funky little apartment somewhere with Salvation Army chairs painted wild colors and chipped china teacups. My bohemian side is somewhat subdued, what with all the toddler things around the house, and a man with contemporary good taste.

• I am currently obsessed with this Greek yogurt + honey.

• I am an INFJ.

• I could survive the rest of my life without coffee or wine, but not poems; without chocolate or television, but not music; without money or things, but not good friends.

I’m tagging: love squalor, la vie en rose , so the fish said, hula seventy, and rosa murillo

Soaking up summer. Taking walks at a two-year old’s pace. Noticing the minute beauty of things. Splashing water. Throwing pebbles. Picking wild raspberries and licking the juice off my fingers. Rediscovering how much I love my camera.

Bee & queen anne’s lace.

Milkweed blossoms.

Bee & thistle.

Bean exploring at the neighbor’s pond.

Sun high on the meridian, humidity making my hair curl and the cat nap, a sprawling stripe of fur on the windowsill. Reason enough to head down to the local hardware store for a blue plastic kiddy pool. Cold water splashing on our sun-hot skin, and Bean’s delighted laughter. A perfect afternoon.

The way the orchid on the windowsill sends up a new stalk bravely into the warm light by the glass, buds swelling with the promise of waxy petals, even though the ceramic bowl of moss and soil that hold its roots are all it has.

The way the sun comes up all over again, spreading the yellow paint of another morning across the sky, even though the night was long. Even though the clouds obscured the stars and the coyotes woke me, howling, and in the morning the neighbor said he’d lost another lamb.

The way my small boy goes, lips stained red with berries, running across the lawn to play contentedly with his chickies, while I sit on the stoop with my laptop and type unencumbered, watching. Even though an hour before he was glued to me, whining, tantruming, irrational.

The way there is always grace, even though the world is a place of anguish and everywhere my glance falls, text leaps from the page telling of another way that devastation happens. And it does.

I feel so lucky.