It's Thursday and sunny and 70* gorgeous degrees! Spring has sprung. All the forsythias are a burst of yellow, my irises are pushing their way up, daffodils are in bloom, and the song birds are singing.
Ahhhhh the springtime. It is no wonder how poets of long ago, and even today, became inspired by the earth's annual rebirth. It is hope in green tender shoots of grass. It is energy in the buds waiting to POP open on the branches of trees. It is music to be in the midst of all the wild life and children at play. Ahhhh springtime.
So in honor of springtime, here is excerpt number 5 from my middle grade novel. It is about hope, and energy, rebirth, and the music of the relationships in our lives - especially the broken ones needing repair and renewal.
It’s not that he finally warmed up to me. He didn’t wrap his arms around me and tell me he loved me. It’s not that he even said another word to me, or that we spoke volumes to one another. But we did do something together, side-by-side. He pushed. I pulled. I placed. He moved. And together, we put the living room back. Piece by piece. To the way it was before.
When we were done, we plopped down on opposite ends of the couch, looking straight ahead. Not a single word was spoken, but I knew he was thinking the same thing – she’s gone. She’s really gone. And now it looks as though she was never here.
I guess I’d have to wait to bury my hair, because as long as Papa was willing to sit there, I was willing to sit there, until we watched the sun and moon trade places in the sky.
I thought, sometimes a living room’s just a living room, and a tree’s just a tree. Sometimes Mamas die and leave little girls alone. And sometimes Papas and Mamas get lost, even if they’re right beside you, in a store or sitting on a flowered couch