A child is a marvelous creation.

Early morning, he wakes, looking for me. I am not in his bed, I am not in my bed, and so he stands at the top of the stairs on soft, sleepy legs, calling, "Mumma." I am downstairs, sipping water and reading silently. I stand and climb up, up, up, and lift his warm, wobbly body and carry him down, down, down, and then over to the tall window where we sit in silence, rocking and listening to the birds and cars. Eventually, he climbs down and goes to the couch, which shines with morning light. 

I take this picture.  

I hope he always goes looking for the light, even if it means leaving me to do it.

I am so grateful and glad for these slow summer mornings. So much possibility. So much time! We could go anywhere. Do anything! Do nothing! We mostly do nothing - if nothing is reading library books, eating cereal, and meandering through the nearby woods and neighborhood, looking for dogs, puddles, climbing trees, boulders, gardens, grass, and wildflowers.