Our outside table sits just under a tree I hardly ever notice, actually.
It has been a ridiculously busy few weeks with guests and festivals and harvesting and work. All while trying to maintain a semi-regular home existence for us and the bean.
Sunday, we'd just gotten back from a wonderful, but busy, weekend at the cabin and I was focused on getting the baby fed, bathed and in bed while I unpacked, cleaned and readied for another farm trip (We're now selling bulk heritage and ancient grains at the Tuesday market in Whitefish, about 3 1/2 hours across the mountains.)
During dinner Willa was distracted, looking up and squealing, instead of eating.
"Focus Willa," I said, a little flustered. "Here, have some more rice."
A gust of wind kicked up and her attention turned skyward again.
Ugh. Kid. Just eat.
Then, I looked up. The silver leaves quaking in the wind framed by a blue, blue sky. Another gust blew through, ruffling Willa's hair and replacing the hot summer air around us with an almost-fall coolness.
Aha.
Willa and I met gazes, chins still pointed to the tree and she looked at me as if to say, "See Mama!? That's what I was trying to show you."
Oh, how beautiful the world can be if you let yourself see it through younger eyes.
Like the wonder you can find in a cold mountain stream. Or heck, how just a rock from that stream can be the most fun thing you've ever held in your hand.
Or, the simple pleasure of a discovering a sprinkler on a hot summer day.
And then hanging out in the spray for a few minutes to cool off.
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