There’s a routine in this house.
It’s morning, just after breakfast actually.
Baby heads for the patio doors, maneuvers the two steps down to the patio.
Expectantly she throws her right hand in the air, reaching for what she knows will be there.
Cute pudgy fingers close around my hand and up she gets on her two feet.
Then comes the long walk down the length of the backyard.
She’s unfazed. Determined. She has a purpose.
Finally she reaches her destination.
She makes sure things are the way they’re supposed to be.
It’s changed a little.
The tomatoes are riper, and today we pick a few. Oh, there’s a weed. We should pull that.
Any green beans ready? No. Maybe tomorrow.
Her observations complete, she heads back into the house.
Only to return tomorrow.