It’s been a week for close-ups.
Everywhere I look, there is a scene I want to dive into. Waylon’s eyes pull me in as always. More than once this week I’ve felt the strain of tiredness and a lack of time, but then Waylon looks at me and laughs, and my frustration melts away. Of course. This world is meant to be celebrated, and I know of no one else that reminds me of this more fully than Waylon.
Last night the two of us visited the sheep in the pasture. Edge is the main shepherd on the farm, and so it had been a few days since I’d said a proper hello to the flock. They contentedly grazed as the sun sank toward the horizon, happy to have a fresh plot of grass for the night. The lambs are in their second month now, and plumping up on milk and grass. The ewes and rams were shorn last weekend, suddenly looking skinny sans their winter coat, but now I look at them and see their muscle, the brightness of their inner fleece, and they look so cool on these hot days.
Waylon stared at the flock moving through the grass and offered some noises of his own. He’s saying so much these days~all in oohs, ahhs, dees, daas and mamamamas. He’s taking the whole world in and learning to converse with it. More and more he’s not content to stay in my arms, but instead wants to crawl all over the place, to see the world close-up.
That’s the anecdote for anything, isn’t it? To get close, dig in, to paint ourselves with soil and life. In the evenings when I come home from work, the only way to erase the computer daze from my eyes is to visit the garden, to laugh with Waylon, to take the hoe and cultivate. To cultivate the life I wish to grow one close-up at a time.