There comes a day, every autumn, when I remember Grandma Shafer's favorite poem: "Come, Little Leaves." I can't recall her reciting it beyond the portion I included on my photo, above, and, in fact, I didn't know of the rest until I googled, this morning.
I want to teach the poem (or at least the first part of it) to Clementine, and I think she's ready: she loves rhymes.
She also loves prayers. This morning, over breakfast, she prayed: "Thank you, God, for the food. Thank you for the grass and the sun. Amen."
I was feeling overly encouraged regarding her spiritual progress. Thank goodness for the reality check of her spitting a hunk of buttered toast at me.
While I'm writing about Clementine, I want to record the fact that she asks, several times a day, to brush her "tooth"...as if she has only one. This makes me laugh because of the many unfortunate stereotypes regarding East Tennessee (which I do consider home) and teeth.
Clementine also struggles, a little, with certain pronouns. She uses "mines," regularly, in place of "mine," as in: "Give it back! That's mines!" I correct her neither for this nor for using "shes" in place of "her," as in: "Mom! Charleigh has butter all over shes face!"
Clementine's growing so quickly that I'm enjoying the few little things she says in her own, Clementine way. She's started giving up "forsey" for "horsey," which I find bittersweet.
So the seasons shift inside the home and out, but I'm breathing a word of praise for the beauty inherent in the changes.