all sweet things take time.

My soundtrack for this today. Join in the songs in my head if you want:



Perhaps it's the x'ing off of days until vacation. Or the sun that's made a reappearance. My flowers in the garden are not bending low to gray and rain this morning. They're reaching. I'm reaching. And we find the warmth is filling our freckles and hearts to the brim.

:: yeast warming, bread baking to rise to fill us.

warm butter sliding across the fresh surface and cold water in our hands.

cherry preserves to sweeten the tongue and patient words dripping.

:: bright colors for our fingers and toes, so as we run, work, dig, play we see beauty

and remember not to break, bend, or cut away at the slight nuances of femininity.

sunglasses of snow, from a season back in our memories.

the season that birthed this one and we play behind these shadows to see clear.

the lens of seasonal change that shows what we need to see in each.

:: we're girls, from our blurry eyes to smudged lips,

we smile and thank God for imperfections that teach us beauty is not external.

beauty fades and runs off of lips and runs down the drain.

this we can laugh at — that we can smile with red or plastic,

and know none of it changes who are or makes us who we are, and we can laugh at vanity.

:: toll-painted paddles that my sister says "we don't think about what it means too much"

otherwise we might grow red-cheeked, and giggle.

but it sits next to the truth that one kind of love lasts beyond kissing, and cooking,

and it's extravagant.

:: a magazine photo hangs on the fridge as a reflection of beauty,

and companionship, and quiet conversations that no one else needs to know.

i hang it to inspire, and for the gentle breeze it blows into our kitchen.

she digs into chocolate, and while it looks messy, and dirty,

and i wonder how we'll clean up the remains

— one finger swipe reminds me it's sweet, and takes time.
all sweet things take time.