u/EmbersAsTheyBurn

Finding a shed whisker from one of the animals. I always have to pick them up and feel them, fiddle with them. And it oddly feels a shame to throw them away.

Finding those tiny snail shells in the dirt, about the size of a lentil, holding them in my palm.

Newly unfurling leaves and buds, firm but delicate, rubbery, velvety, the way they smell like green and fresh.

Touching a roly-poly, watching it curl up for a moment, and wait, and then unroll and continue on its way.

The way water droplets rest on the plants, frozen and still, but alive and moving at the same time, crystal balls that hold light and color.

For words. For stories. To learn and grow from reading.

When it is dark, they still sing the morning in, sure she is coming.