the artist who colored the sky with pastels this afternoon must have been in a mood. he used his thumb to smear the clouds a couple times too many.

the land of nod

while spending a rare, yet cherished time rocking my 20 month old baby, we were exchanging nods without speaking as if he could hear my love for him and i could hear his thoughts of love for me. nods of agreement that this was a wonderful moment in time. nods of understanding that neither of us should break the silent spell. nods of appreciation that fate or destiny had a hand in putting us in a room together undisturbed for blissful bonding.