“Why are you in the dirt?” he asked, trundling to where I crouched. “I’m pulling weeds.” “Why?” “So that there’s there more room for the flowers.” “Why?” “Because I like the flowers.” “Why?” “Because they’re pretty.” By that time his mother arrived. “He’s three,” she said. “We hear a lot of why.” His whys—genuine, curious—were [Read More...]
from
http://www.patheos.com/blogs/goodletters/2017/07/as-petals-fall/
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