When we headed inside for naptime, I tried to find an appropriately-themed book. Amazingly, among all of our children's books, there isn't one that has to do with gardening. To be honest, I hate to garden, so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. I let Little Page choose whatever book she liked (which I'll highlight another day) and I put her to bed.
So instead of featuring a gardening book today, I thought I would mention A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson. A dear lady gave me this book when I was pregnant with Little Page. She has since passed, and I cherish the copy along with the note she wrote:
This is not a "first" book. It is, however, a "forever" book. Your child will pick it up or you may share it at precious little unplanned moments. Then, much later - many years later, you can appreciate the final verses "To Any Reader" on p. 116.
With love, Margaret
The last verse of the poem on p. 116 goes: "For, long ago, the truth to say,/He has grown up and gone away,/And it is but a child of air/That lingers in the garden there." Every time I read those lines, I want to cry. I remember once again how precious these few years of childhood are and how honored I am to be the one to give them to my little girls.