She sits in still water and it's supposed to preserve her and keep her.
Or so the child says.
And she looks at me as I slice peppers and when I rinse fork.
This oddity has become a fixture on my sill--
Sharing space with sprouting beans and leafy basil
warmed by Winter's bright sunlight.
Feet patter through and she sits forgotten
day is gone, and then another.
Until aged water becomes stagnant
and jar hides in plain view with complacency.
A brightly packaged novelty is now familiar
and eyes pass by but no longer see
And sometimes I know I do that as I
mother and wife. Taking for granted
splendor and delight and wonderment.
And not really "seeing" the gifts before me.
It's time to dump old water and see with fresh mind
and renewed heart, filling hearts to the brim.