Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
Karina's Simple Pleasures
“Come with me. Daddy. Let’s water the flowers.”
The Sky is bluish gray as the day draws to a close. Birds chirp in the distance. Cicadas buzz softly in the trees. Then there’s silence. A quiet, summer silence. The air is hot, sticky, but thankfully a soft breeze moves through the yard. Just enough to blow a wisp of hair from her face. Little feet pad on the soft grass. Swish, swish. She walks slowly from pot to pot pouring fresh water from a small watering can. A little drip here. A gush waterfall there. Oops, I'll need to change those PJ's. “You’ve already watered those sweetie,” I say.
“It needs more,” she says back. “The pink ones need water Daddy!” I smile and chuckle.
“I need more water Daddy.”
“Do you want to stay in the backyard while I get some?”
“No Daddy, I come with you!” she says firmy.
“Ok.”
We make a trip to the faucet inside, filling the water pot generously.
“It’s heavy, should I carry it?”
“No Daddy. I do it!”
“Ok, you do it,” I smile.
We make the trip to the backyard two times, three times, four times. I tell her the flowers don’t need anymore water. That they’ve had enough; that we might hurt them if they get too much.
“Ok Daddy,” she says. “Come with me,” and she leads me to a pot we’ve forgotten. It’s hanging from a metal hook attached to a pure white deck railing. Wilted purple flowers rise from the dirt. Thirtsty. I reach to pull the pot down and set it on the ground. Her face glows as she waters it.
“Watch Daddy,” she says again. “I water it!”
“You did sweetheart,” I say again softly. “You did.”
The Sky is bluish gray as the day draws to a close. Birds chirp in the distance. Cicadas buzz softly in the trees. Then there’s silence. A quiet, summer silence. The air is hot, sticky, but thankfully a soft breeze moves through the yard. Just enough to blow a wisp of hair from her face. Little feet pad on the soft grass. Swish, swish. She walks slowly from pot to pot pouring fresh water from a small watering can. A little drip here. A gush waterfall there. Oops, I'll need to change those PJ's. “You’ve already watered those sweetie,” I say.
“It needs more,” she says back. “The pink ones need water Daddy!” I smile and chuckle.
“I need more water Daddy.”
“Do you want to stay in the backyard while I get some?”
“No Daddy, I come with you!” she says firmy.
“Ok.”
We make a trip to the faucet inside, filling the water pot generously.
“It’s heavy, should I carry it?”
“No Daddy. I do it!”
“Ok, you do it,” I smile.
We make the trip to the backyard two times, three times, four times. I tell her the flowers don’t need anymore water. That they’ve had enough; that we might hurt them if they get too much.
“Ok Daddy,” she says. “Come with me,” and she leads me to a pot we’ve forgotten. It’s hanging from a metal hook attached to a pure white deck railing. Wilted purple flowers rise from the dirt. Thirtsty. I reach to pull the pot down and set it on the ground. Her face glows as she waters it.
“Watch Daddy,” she says again. “I water it!”
“You did sweetheart,” I say again softly. “You did.”
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