The Field by the Blue Park

Some days I get kind of snarky about Texas. I want to move to Oregon, I think, I need the blackberries, the mountains, the pines, my mother. I fall victim to the silly, "I'll really be happy when..." mirage.

But some days I'm perfectly content with where we are. The field by the blue park has been all kinds of lovely this spring. First it bloomed blue - cheerful little bonnets aplenty. Then it was wispy, lush green - the rain turned the timid little blades into clumsy grass giants. And now it's wildflowers - the meadow aglow with little explosions of maize and crimson. And the late evening light is intoxicating. I want to slip out every night around 6:20, just me and my camera and maybe a child, to capture the loveliness for an hour.

Sunday night allowed us a few minutes to frolic. Henry ran around for a bit, tried to pick me a bouquet - I snapped pictures all the while, Nate rolled his eyes at my compulsive clicking, but tried to feign support for my habit. Then Henry was lured away by the siren song of the playground. My legs were terribly itchy; we decided a spell on the swings might take our mind off the irritation.

The outing was a good way to detoxify our systems which had nearly been poisoned by the "salt salad" I served for dinner - an Asian Chicken concoction gone awry. Makes me parched just to remember it.

Ope, I've so much more to say, but a little boy just appeared at my side, matchbox cars in hand and a make-shift car track has just been constructed on the living room floor. That's my cue to quit.

Today, I'm happy to be here. Content with my home, my family, my friends, my field of flowers - sometimes I think it blooms just for me. Even on the good days, though, part of my heart always hankers for Oregon.