Nests. They collect themselves all over my home. Sweet little things that find their way into sweeter hands and onto my table. My favorite? The one where the mama bird gathered little bits of this and that, scavenged building materials that she wove together into a home. It requires a gentle hand and an observant eye.
After reading Tracey's book, I've been paying closer attention to the bits my older three leave around. No more do they wander into the house carrying little treasures from outside. Instead, they let their own lives drop and scatter wherever they will. And I have been carelessly stepping over the teen years. The boots I trip over. The bags left by the door. Airsoft bullets in cushions. Stickers that mark interests. The details in rooms behind the closed doors (closed only by mandate to guard from tiny hands). There are things that I have ignored as precious. Things and images that one day I will cup tenderly in my palm for the treasures they are. I commit now not to wait until someday.
See the blur out the window? Yeah. That would be the last 15 years.