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Spring Morning


We read a poem by A. A. Milne yesterday that perfectly described our morning. We found a trail in our backyard that we had never followed before and walked down it. At the bottom of the hill we found a pond, stream, and some shovels and pails left by children who had also discovered this backyard paradise. I brought along a book and a picnic blanket and read in the sunshine while the kids climbed trees, jumped across the brook, and dug in the muddy stream.

Sometimes I’m not totally sure if I’m doing this whole education, homeschool, motherhood, etc. thing right, but something in me keeps saying…”this is what they need.”

Spring Morning

by A. A. Milne

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
Down to the stream where the king-cups grow-
Up on the hill where the pine-trees blow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

Where am I going? The clouds sail by,
Little ones, baby ones, over the sky.
Where am I going? The shadows pass,
Little ones, baby ones, over the grass.

If you were a cloud, and sailed up there,
You’d sail on water as blue as air,
And you’d see me here in the fields and say:
“Doesn’t the sky look green today?”

Where am I going? The high rooks call:
“It’s awful fun to be born at all.”
Where am I going? The ring-doves coo:
“We do have beautiful things to do.”

If you were a bird, and lived on high,
You’d lean on the wind when the wind came by,
You’d say to the wind when it took you away:
“That’s where I wanted to go today!”

Where am I going? I don’t quite know.
What does it matter where people go?
Down to the wood where the blue-bells grow-
Anywhere, anywhere. I don’t know.

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