8: Wee Crawlies

Adorable, yes? But they're everywhere! I write a letter to my sister, a spider crawls across my lap. I let the dogs out in the morning, pincers glare back at me. I drive to a poetry reading, a caterpillar crawls up my leg. I dig in the garden, the pale flesh of a worm wiggles back at me.

This is spring. The earth is damp, the gardens are sprouting, and there are bugs in my house. Wee crawlies, so to speak. I'm collecting bugs, these days. I put them in a jar, give them to Chris.


It's been raining all different ways lately. This morning, it's a quiet rain, the sun still peeking out on occasion--the sort of rain you wouldn't realize save the steady threads of it with the backdrop of the maple tree. Last night's was glorious: the thunder and lightning in concert, the windows slapped shut, small pools along the windowsill.

I'm loving this time of year, not just because I can sleep until ten and only feel slightly squishy-guilty, but also because the world is so verdant, so full of potential.