In the park the lazy breeze are joining in the flowers, among the trees

in the wee hours of the morning i wake up hungry. the sun is peeking through winter trees, orange and green and a silvery blue black. above the green is a purple mist. above the purple some kind of pinkish orange fluff.

jude crawls and claps for himself. he smells like baby and although he only has a fuzz of hair, what he has is certainly junior bed-head, standing and poking in strange places.



henry was awake at five. he came into our room and put on his pirate boots. he did not want to sleep. it was dark then and ernie took him to his bed to stay until at least six. and now as the coffee perks and the baby plays and the sun does a blazing dance for the few of us who are up and watching, the two of them sleep in a pile, a white blanket and crazy hair and superman pyjama pile.

the sun is golden glitter shooting out in beams across the street through the glass and breaking into a thousand pieces against the wall, the piano, the chair, my hair.

at long last henry has discovered the joys of choosing ones own apparel and dressing oneself. just in time for summer, when his previous costume choices -- diaper and boots -- are perfectly acceptable for a small child to traipse the streets.

so far he chooses his pirate boots daily, hourly. he would sleep in them if he thought about it. and the matter of jude's shirts being years too small for henry to wear is insignificant.

why am i reminded of jodie foster in "freaky friday?"