Amy brought plum blossoms in a pint jar to me today. Currently it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, ever. I suppose, I mean, I know that that’s a ridiculous thing to say. Because I’ve seen many “most beautiful” scenes and flowers and faces.
You can’t plan for the beauty of a plum blossom bouquet. They happen quietly along the ditches in plain sight, but we speed on by trying to stay on our schedules. It’s such a deadly race.
What else am I missing out on if I’m not careful to watch? Elv wants to go up to Cheney lake this evening. I think he wants to remember what we learned in the mountains. We learned that splendor and beauty happen without our notice and it’s our loss when we spend our days muddling around the grind of work and keeping all our proverbial ducks in a row.
Stone House Scribblings 