While this cute baby mouse scurried about, I collected tree blossoms from the slides, cupped them in my paws and breathed in their purple, red down. I felt a compulsion to pick each strand from the ground; hope, misplaced on gravel. How plain and rewarding such a task seemed. One blossom, two, three, ....a bazillion. Hours of soft tedium. And a nest to snooze in when exhausted.
"What are you doing Mamma mouse?"
"Smell this. What do you think?"
(blogged by Kelly Marie Redcliffe, poet who will be having her Denmark exchange vicariously from home while playing various Mamma animal roles)