Painted Toes and a Polka Dot Skirt

 

We are on our way to a Memorial Day picnic.

Maryland is in full bloom.

Her sky, an ocean in texture and mood,

today awash in puffs and sleeves of wisping cotton.

The landscape rolling away in breaking sunlight.

Everything green and golden.

My heart so light and free.

In fun and high spirits, I spontaneously paint toes. It feels so carefree, and I think I can probably count on one hand how many times in 18 years I have painted my own toes. Truth. I rarely feel carefree.

I paint to match my wee girls who chose colors during little girl club(whose toes are painted frequently- all things considered) earlier in the week… and whose wee feet tripping brightly through the hours of the days

have

leant their own lightness to my heart.

Somehow, painted toes always seem so carefree

to me. And, while I

so rarely

feel carefree-

–today,

toes and polka dots

for me.

There are many different ways to shine a candle in the darkness; celebrate beauty among workaday duties; rejoice in all things;

A smear of lipstick, the flowering beauty flooding my Instagram stream, chocolate cupcakes tucked away in a quiet room with my youngest son, a tale told of birds at a feeder during a work day – and I see the cardinal; I see the chickadee, a little girl running determinedly barefoot in the grass, an imperfect poetry party and picnic in the yard,

and painted toes for me.

I choose joy.