Quiet Evenings

Evenings these past few days have been quiet and peaceful. Quinn and I sit together with Greta and we work on our own little projects.

For me it has been secret things for Mother's Day: two little table runners showing off my new paper-piecing abilities.

For Quinn it is something he has been working on for quite some time: a shirt of chainmail, each link hand shaped and cut.

Greta doesn't do very much, though she loves to sit with us on the couch and look out the window. Every so often a humming bird will buzz up to the feeder right outside and she'll stare up at it expectantly, hoping to be friends...

Sadly, the humming birds don't stay for long and Greta looks a little sad as they flit away.

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Most of these evenings have been gray and stormy with rain, but the other night we glimpsed heaven with the beautiful sunset that glowed red through our windows.

XXIV. Evening.
By Emily Dickinson

The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
    Their seam the day upon.

The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
     To stay as if, or go.

A vastness, as a neighbor, came, --
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, --
     And so the night became.


We are very blessed to have such an amazing view out our windows, and on nights when the sky is lit with a tangerine sunset it's easier to remember.