Sweet Spot

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The day winds down, groceries put away, cats pawing at the backdoor. The toddler finds her shovel. I hose the hostas and she runs through the spray and a misty rainbow rises. “Mama, put on my garden shoes.” I kneel down before tiny feet and help them into rubber clogs. I fill the big watering can and together we carry it, walking slowly over the bumpy tree roots, water splashing, until we reach the garden, where a few of the tomato plants have fainted away from their stakes. We pour the water slowly. She wanders with her shovel, digging and throwing dirt clouds into the air around us, her wet dress caked with mud. A white butterfly hovers over a marigold and flutters away. Eggplant leaves sway. A fly buzzes. Here we are, inside the day’s sweet spot.

(Post 163 of 365)

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