The sky stays baby blue. The breeze brushes back our hair just so. The plants soak in sun and warmth. The bees suck water from little puddles in the tops of lids and water caught at the edge of faucets.
The light, the warmth, the droplets of water. It is all just so. . .
Mother's Day arrives. It must be planned at peak season for all things that give birth. Five baby chicks hatch. The mother hen keeps them under her wing. We get just a peek. Then there are four eggs. She doesn't want them. It was Mother's Day, I sat in vigil. Peeling back pieces of egg shell pulling out babies that needed warmth I couldn't give and hoping to figure out how to make the temperature just so.
We were running a risk. We couldn't figure out how to get unhatched eggs with live babies out of their eggs the same way a mother hen does it, so we just stayed with them and watched and prayed. It has been three days and they are happy and fine and chirp through the day and the night. And while they chirp we tend the garden and paint. William wants to join us this time. It is his first painting project and he is serious. He holds his paint brush just so and tells us the story of the black and purple choice lines and blotches.