Mud Pies 10.04.21
Hello Little Beautiful, Welcome Home. I wish you could remember how beautiful Avalon was this morning. The sun rose lazily, and the forest air distilled into pure honey, glazing every breeze with a chill and gilding every bough in gold. Everything was cold and wet, studded over with dew. As the morning came, the earth seemed to give off a cool exhale that rose to meet the sun. The cabin roof dripped, the gutters muttered, and the wind tapped at the living room windows. The breeze through the kitchen was the clearest I’ve ever felt, and the rain at noon only revitalized it. I let you out to play in the mud; nothing could keep you from it. On any ordinary day, you would have been thrilled by any mud construction, but today I was making bread in the kitchen, and the impulse to mimic my art with mud was far too strong for you to resist. For nearly two hours, I watched you through the window over the sink as you formed mud pies, carried the...