“It Really Is The Little Things”

Wee One (WO) and I stole outside one morning a few weeks ago, right before the rain. It was muggy but there was a bit of a breeze on the flat land of the playground. She was swinging and I was pushing her baby doll in the swing next to her – at her request – reflecting on pushing that same swing with her as a toddler.

There’s a stream that pops up near the playground and winds through the neighborhood. Pushing the baby doll was meditative, and I reflected on the relationship we had formed with the area.

A relationship with nature?

The owls were hooting, the crickets humming.

There’s a small stream nearby with a stone bridge over it. WO and I have a great time harvesting cat tails from the side of the stream. Observing frogs when we get to the bridge. In the early spring, the city comes and mows the tall grasses that normally keep people from getting to close to the stream, and for a few weeks, the kids can play close to it, on both sides, building bridges. Last year, WO and I cleaned up some trash from there.

That sounds like a relationship, where there’s a give and take. I think home becomes when you have a relationship with the natural space around you.

WO and I sat quietly together for awhile, which I treasure, but it was time for baby doll’s nap and time to go home.

When the thunder came, as we knew it would, WO and I, like all good Midwesterners, went outside to watch the storm roll over us. The clouds were like rows of soldiers, a long company front pushing over us. The wind was whipping the trees into a frenzy, and WO and I were dancing around in it. “Is that all you got, storm?” WO yelled. LOL

Later that night, I was drinking with my neighbor who just turned 60. He was reflecting on some stuff with his son and he was like, “You know, Sahara, it really is the little things that matter.” Like songs he had enjoyed with his son and watching storms come in with my girl.

Okay, your turn.

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