Tonight, barking from Oakley, the wonder dog, brought me to the window to see what personage had the audacity to walk on the road in front of our house – the road that she – ahem – in her infinite wisdom, believes is her duty to guard, as well as our home turf.
I watched, with a heart full of mush and nearly a teary eye has I beheld a little female personage, aged 4 or 5, bundled in a pretty pink spring coat, gently picking a handful of the pretty purple flowers from the edge of my property – most likely to be taken home and thrust from a little grubby hand into the hands of the one who cooks, cleans and comforts in the night.
Her older brother, impatiently waiting for her ‘picking’ to be done, started to ride his bike away – she walked a ways, then, in defiance of the fear that her older protector might leave her, she quickly knelt down to pick just a few more.
Little chubby hands full of green and purple, she skipped down the road, looking happy with her discovered booty.
I stifled the urge to run out the door, screaming, “Take more, Take More! Did you make sure to pull out all the roots? Will you come and pull some tomorrow?” hesitant to ruin her obvious joy by scaring the wits out of her.
Instead, I watched as dusk spread over this beautiful-but-deadly-to-other-plants wonder – pondering the various lessons this pretty, abundant plant has given me.
Apparently, I’m not always the terrible curmudgeon I make myself out to be, after all…