Monday, September 13, 2010

And So We Tumble Into Fall

It is that time of year - the hustle of school buses, the morning air so crisp that I shuffle into my robe pulling it tightly around me as I wait for the coffee to brew. Coldness settles on the windowsill and the box elder bugs are starting to huddle on the screens searching for warmth. Even the bees are flying slower and stinging more impatiently.

Another summer has gone by, slow at times and other days passed with the quick, focused speed of a bullet train. My boys wake earlier, sleep in their eyes trying to adjust to the inky morning darkness, their limbs and eyelids heavy.

I scramble eggs and make toast and cook bacon, feeling my life coming back to me, my time returning. And perhaps I do this too greedily, forgetting how quickly this time does pass and how even the rough days will somehow be lost to me and I will probably miss it. It is the hard days that make the good days taste that much sweeter.

The summer was tough but I shouldn't let that put an overcast on the entire season. We did have some family fun. We camped at the central coast of Oregon near Florence surrounded by mountains of sandy dunes that led to the tumble of ocean. Sean scurried up and down the dunes, sand spraying like silver glitter.

We went to the high desert and slept in cedar cabins and ate corn and flank steak with friends. We hiked a dormant volcano, trudging and balancing up the sharp edged and polished black obsidian rocks.

We went to the Cascade mountains, and set up camp right next to a fresh, clean alpine lake. At night the sky throbbed with fat, electric stars, our faces sparkled in starlight as we tucked into the tent.

These were definitely glimpses of grace and beauty, reminding us that we live in splendor and that if we are still and far away from the noise and bustle, we can bear witness to the movements of angels and hear the hushed whispers of earth and sky. And although the moments were fleeting, when I close my eyes I feel I can see those stars as they were, unreal and pulsing, and pick them one by one like fresh, dewey apples, a bushel of stars to hold in my heart.

1 comment:

Gimky said...

It's like poetry, Katie! What a beautiful entry.

I know that feeling you had standing before your kitchen stove.... there's that never ending give and take between trudging forward and taking a step back to appreciate the moment. When it just kind of happens in those small moments without conscious effort, it's especially sweet.

Love this post.