Watch clouds blow by.
Find surprise between tree and cloud.
This mothering gig is challenging me. I am faced with my legacy every single moment, three times over. I am shaping humans. I am shaping myself.
What will I pass on? What will I let go? How do I live what I believe? What do I even believe? Do I put it into words by putting it into action, or the other way 'round? And, good glory, why so many everloving questions?
I wish I wouldn't take so long to slow down enough to look for the answers.
P.S. We did get snow.
A little bit, a dry bit, a cold bit, but enough to sled. After runs of danger (not the back hill but the driveway, and not the hickories but the garden fence), we did find the logging road, whose bumps and blackberries made me me wish -- just for a minute -- for a municipal hill, maybe one down a quiet street, between houses at the end of the street, into the little woods over the creek dark in snow, up through hilly trees that crest above the schoolfields.