with hey, ho, the wind and the rain

mud everywhere! let mud kill you.

it's a day for digging. i hope to buy plants today, something green and delicate, something fascinating for the front of my house, a greeting in green, something of a spike, a twisting vine, something pinkly orange and glowing. henry has new garden tools, compliments of a doting gift-giving grammy. we've seed packets in a bag hanging from a hook on the wall down the stairs, new potting soil in a bag in the garage. pots to fill and muddy beds to plow by hand and by finger and mostly likely by toe.

we drove home through blue and white, sky and cloud to find our house, locked tight and exceedingly messy. the kitchen table boasted a sad series of forgotten cereal bowls, the makings of yogurt or a terrible cheese from friday morning's cereal milk in the bottoms of the bowls, lending a stink to the kitchen.

there you have it, a little secret no one had to know about and here i post it for all the world to see, anonymous surfers who, perhaps, don't matter at all, family who don't care at all, and friends who had no idea at all. my darling husband continued the mother's day celebration by washing the frightful bowls as i opened door and window and flicked on fans, the boys creeping and jumping through the house exploratory frenzy style.



rise up, the children of this house, all in your rich attire
for the summer springs so fresh, green and gay;
and every hair upon your heads shines like the silver wire:
drawing near unto the merry month of may.