Summer's Doorsill

Monday, June 26, 2017 — Daily Notes, From the Editor

Sunday morning I sat on the threshold, in the doorway from my home to the garden, drinking coffee and missing her.

We had just spent 48 hours together, playing. We spotted fairy furniture and tiny pots in the plantings. We took "pixures" of "twees" and read books about "faiwies." We played in the water at "da beach" and slept in the same "big bed" with the open window where she could see "da stars!"

She has the seemingly endless energy of a small sun and the most considerate and thoughtful heart. Her curiosity knows no bounds. "Why?" is her current, constant refrain. I love her so.

We laid on our backs on the pink blanket each day, both of us had our cameras in hand. Hers has a blue strap. Mine has a pink strap. We clicked our shutters at the trees and the sky and the flowers and each other.

This grown-up world we adults inhabit is not the only one. Remember this. Just beyond the doorsill between house and garden lies another, where magic is an every moment occurrence, where time slows down, where the smallest things matter, and everything else can wait. Spend two days with a three year old and you will reside in it, even if only for awhile.

Go on. June is getting late. Go play.

xo laura P.S. I've been making little voice recordings, here and there. Speaking small truths. Practicing. Here's one I made on Sunday morning, sitting there in summer's doorsill: notes from the heart : missing faye

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