Today my heart aches a little, with a longing for fulfilled promises I've not yet been made. My heart grows and shrinks with the familiar embarrassment of misplaced hopes. I am at the same time overcome with joy and gratitude for the beautiful gifts that surround me in my life, and fraught with sorrow for the days that will never come again, or the days that were meant to come and didn't. I am so torn between these emotions that it's raining outside (as the weather does indeed reflect my mood, or perhaps it's the other way around. I'm never quite sure.)
As well, this morning I had to trim back a lot of Oliver's pumpkin seedlings, as they didn't adjust well to the ravages of the outside world, and their stalks bent beyond repair in many places. There's a good chance we won't have any successful pumpkin plants at this rate, but I dare not tell Oliver. If I have to sneak out in the night and place pumpkins in the garden myself I will gladly do so. He's too young to learn that hopes do not always amount to success, and should hold fast to his dreamy sense of endless possibilities for as long as he humanly can.
For now I'll simply gaze out the window at this cloudy, dreary day and dream up a world where everything I've asked for has always been neatly delivered, and lessons didn't have to be learned the hard way in order to be learned at all. There are so many sweet wonders beneath my feet, between my fingers, moving through my lungs, and I mustn't waste another moment overlooking them. That would be the real tragedy.
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