these are the wonders of being a stay-at-home papa.
Between sage and rose, a delicate freckled green half-shell lay,
remnant perhaps of a family, long gone, of western scrub jays.
Up there survives, I said to the children, look, a still intact nest
among the branches. The leaves shook as we chattered in jest.
The children measure themselves against sunflowers
not yet fully grown but already as high as their shoulders
while I measure myself against many small surprises
that my children and I will this day and next still witness.
excerpt from a poem
june 6, 2013
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