It's hard to know where to start with such a day. Throw in that it's late and I'm really tired, and things get pretty abstract.
Just trust me when I say that there really were many salient thoughts that went through my head
during three boards of painted paper plates,
and after a series of quirky bowl shapes ,
and a strange evolution of bottle forms.There were no pictures taken during our trip to the dump where the girls took turns aiming tossed milk jugs into the recycling trailer, the tetherball smack-down between Stacey and I, the discovery of the the new potato plants peeking out over the rows in the garden, our neighbor Robert cutting the field in his old and well repaired Ford 3000 tractor. No jpegs of Lillian's skinned knees after taking a spill during her bike riding lesson or the poor frogs that got a little too warm in the deflated pool. There isn't a record of the hazy dim outline of the tree line behind the shop as I walked down in the obscured by fog moonlight to the house after working tonight, or the smell of wet cut hay (or the smell of a stinky Jack snoring in his crate after heroically pulling the inner tube of giggling girls in the river right before the rain came).
But such is a day in our lives that is drifting into memories and dreamland just as fast as it started with that morning cup of coffee in this bleary eyed potter's favorite cup so many hours ago.
