lettuce is poetry.

everything we do is an act of poetry or a painting if we do it with mindfulness.  growing lettuce is poetry.  walking to the supermarket can be a painting. . . .if we just act in each moment with composure & mindfulness, each minute of our life is a work of art.    –thich nhat hanh.

get this.

or, i get this sometimes.  in glimmering shards.

seeing the depth of brown in kieran’s eyes as he relates a tale of “foddy” (froggy), little stumbling words reaching up to be a big giant story.

javin’s crawling in beside me in the early morning with a bad dream, & my having the realization that this is it!  this is what i’m doing, nurturing & connecting, leading & guiding.

those tender tears that say, “i still need mama.”

the puckery edges of the lettuce leaves i weeded around, carefully, like babies in a nursery.

the weight & depth of connection in a big family weekend:  these people look like me, like andy, like my kids, like they could be my kids.  there is indeed something weighty about family.

the unreal artistry in thalia’s little-girl-drawings-that-aren’t.  the way she captures a squirrel, a kitty watching a yarn ball, a pony, as she sits beside me in the early morning.  so unique to her.  unhindered & true.  authentically a gift.

all these bits are pieces of poetry Handed Down.

for my capturing.  my leaning into.  my lov-ed-ness.

i want to amp up my getting it.  

all the beautiful shards.

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