Jane and Jack prospect the yard. An old sprinkler joint from the repair bin, last year's gooseberry netting, cardboard, branches, leaves, a hand trowel, the occasional marble or bead or smooth stone, they gather treasure.
Lulie knows the game. Dirt and all.
I squeeze into a child-sized picnic seat and warm my face in the sun. "I'm exhausted."
"Hey Momma," Janie looks up, "ask God, if you want to be tough." I watch her eyes, smooth lakes of blue. "Have you asked Him?"
Oh. Nope. I was just gonna suffer through. Silly me.