it’s about stepping into sunshine…

“this winter was made for children,” husband says pulling sled to church, the world and i in our brown curdoroy jackets and the sky, a picnic of blue and yellow and white and “so warm, so full of snow, perfect for playing.”

he sighs deep, my man in his black toque and i wish to kiss him. “don’t you love that?” he whispers as if the cold might hear, awake and frost us white. “this way of breathing in winter?”

this man who, yesterday, held me while i sobbed
my friend calls it a lenten ache

and i’m missing God but finding him slow, in the faces of man and boy

learning to hold out my arms and let the soul of the hour have its way

we’re home from church and they’re driving to oma’s to play with cousin and i have five loads of laundry to fold and a painting i’d like to do and i tell him to call me when he’s ready for me

sun on his jaw as he leans from car window, “i’m always ready for you,” he says. “you call me when you’re ready.”

this mess of a woman who thinks by doing, she is something…

when easter is in the being

thankful, with ann today, for:

251. sunday afternoon of reading
252. husband and son who let me sleep in saturday
253. warm spring days
254. the hope of a surprise i’ve planned for my hubby this weekend
255. the fact that i woke up this morning
256. freezer and fridge full of food
257. articles to write
258. paintings to paint
259. laundry folded
260. freedom to worship

(*please note the — hopefully final — change to this blog’s title. i thought it less confusing to just call it ‘imperfect prose’… love you all*)