We were out of eggs.
Jack, 21, and Logan, 8, rode their bikes down the lane to pick up some farm fresh eggs and peppers,
and surprised me with some hand-picked flowers, beautifully arranged in a mason jar. Scrambled eggs, with basil (from a local, hydroponic farm), oven roasted peppers, and cinnamon french toast, like the kind I made when the older kids were younger.
Sunday morning breakfast.
The sun was trying hard to break through the cloud covered sky, and the temperature was just pleasant enough to open up a few windows,allowing the fresh, country air indoors. After breakfast, the hypnotic breeze drew me outdoors, onto the front porch, where I sat, and watched, and listened.
Tall grasses, blowing, large birds (maybe hawks, or the less popular vultures), soaring; tree shadows, reaching across the land. Butterflies. Monarch butterflies! Dancing, all around.
This is where I live, now, and I can't believe it's not temporary.
And, I wonder if it will ever get old.
Jack, 21, and Logan, 8, rode their bikes down the lane to pick up some farm fresh eggs and peppers,
and surprised me with some hand-picked flowers, beautifully arranged in a mason jar. Scrambled eggs, with basil (from a local, hydroponic farm), oven roasted peppers, and cinnamon french toast, like the kind I made when the older kids were younger.
Sunday morning breakfast.
The sun was trying hard to break through the cloud covered sky, and the temperature was just pleasant enough to open up a few windows,allowing the fresh, country air indoors. After breakfast, the hypnotic breeze drew me outdoors, onto the front porch, where I sat, and watched, and listened.
Tall grasses, blowing, large birds (maybe hawks, or the less popular vultures), soaring; tree shadows, reaching across the land. Butterflies. Monarch butterflies! Dancing, all around.
This is where I live, now, and I can't believe it's not temporary.
And, I wonder if it will ever get old.
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