trail of bread crumbs
Babysat the usual suspects today. Russell is getting so big now. I babysat him when he was a baby and already he's going to kindergarten. Took the kids to Subway for lunch and the Rite Aid so they could pick out toys and candy for the birthday presents I missed. Russell got some Bakugan school supplies and a pack of M&Ms, Gillian picked out a Littlest Petshop stencil and blow-pens set and some mini hair clamps. We all went down to the rather large stream to have an 'adventure'.
I am no stranger to creeks, streams, rivers and forests. My father and grandmother used to take me on nature walks and tell me the name of trees and plants, and I grew up exploring any patch of wilderness and its wildlife I could find nearby. So, I'm pretty happy to be passing on this love of wild things to the children I babysit. Sometimes I stand there in the woods and wonder if these places are soon to disappear, the pockets of forests and deer and snapping turtles, the microcosms on the border of these houses. The children like to splash and play in the creek, collect little clamshells, watch the snapping turtles and rabbits. Play on the logs. They bring their bathing suits to swim in the stream and when they're done, I bundle them up in towels and drive them home in my car. God, I love these kids. All kids, really. I don't want a husband or sex, but I wouldn't mind a child.
Beautiful things:
A stream running through a chunk of forest large enough to deceive me into thinking for just a moment that I might actually be surrounded by nature and not just mostly-claimed suburbia.
Water running quickly over smooth stones.
Tree roots edging over the side of red-clay banks, like a twisted curtain of thick strands of hair.
The crinkle of the baby's eyes when he smiles and his mouth when he laughs.
A child hugging you, because you know it is unfeigned and unrestrained affection.
The cool feeling of hard dirt, smooth from the rain, beneath bare feet.
The smell of black walnuts.
Cold water swirling around bare legs, sand and pebbles shifting underfoot.
I want to make a long, long list of all these beautiful things. They're like snapshots in the eye of the senses.
I am no stranger to creeks, streams, rivers and forests. My father and grandmother used to take me on nature walks and tell me the name of trees and plants, and I grew up exploring any patch of wilderness and its wildlife I could find nearby. So, I'm pretty happy to be passing on this love of wild things to the children I babysit. Sometimes I stand there in the woods and wonder if these places are soon to disappear, the pockets of forests and deer and snapping turtles, the microcosms on the border of these houses. The children like to splash and play in the creek, collect little clamshells, watch the snapping turtles and rabbits. Play on the logs. They bring their bathing suits to swim in the stream and when they're done, I bundle them up in towels and drive them home in my car. God, I love these kids. All kids, really. I don't want a husband or sex, but I wouldn't mind a child.
Beautiful things:
A stream running through a chunk of forest large enough to deceive me into thinking for just a moment that I might actually be surrounded by nature and not just mostly-claimed suburbia.
Water running quickly over smooth stones.
Tree roots edging over the side of red-clay banks, like a twisted curtain of thick strands of hair.
The crinkle of the baby's eyes when he smiles and his mouth when he laughs.
A child hugging you, because you know it is unfeigned and unrestrained affection.
The cool feeling of hard dirt, smooth from the rain, beneath bare feet.
The smell of black walnuts.
Cold water swirling around bare legs, sand and pebbles shifting underfoot.
I want to make a long, long list of all these beautiful things. They're like snapshots in the eye of the senses.