Before our weekend became a giant rain storm
, we spent our afternoon picnicking in our backyard. Nibbling snacks under our orange tree while one 3-year-old climbed its branches. During the few peaceful moments I busied my fingers with weaving a sweet little crown out of grass and leaves for my wee-est of them.
My little girl is our pixie, we joke. Born on St. Patrick’s Day we are certain there is a bit of fairy blood in her spirit. I hadn’t woven a crown out of natural leaves and grasses since entering adulthood, and while weaving bit of childhood magic crept into those twenty minutes I worked. Quiet, pensive, and consumed with my task I remembered what it had been like to stall on my walks home from school to play in the fields nearby and make garlands out of clover, dandelions and the like.
I looked up from my task and watched as my son enacted a world all his own among the branches and tendrils of orange leaves. We both respectively didn’t disturb each other in our creative pursuits. I let him play out being an angel fish among the coral reef and allowed my littlest one run her fingers through the grass. All three of us lost in our own curiosities. Given those short periods of time with nothing more than the outdoors and a blanket to sit, new worlds unfold before us.
Creativity arrives to us at varying velocities, but with young children it is often born out of those moments when we have nothing planned. I think our picnics under the orange tree will have to continue. My spark is rekindled.