Summer slipped out quietly like a visitor feeling too awkward for a goodbye. I tried to enjoy her. I tried to suck every moment, savor the searing seconds, and bask in the place between muggy heat and toes finding the balm of water. But she's gone. And as much as I love Fall, there is a bit of wistful lingering.
Time was in too much of a hurry. And in its haste comes change. So I turn into it.
I've been reflecting, which seems to be what I do this time of the year. All around are signs, tell-tale ones. And if I look back over the changes, then I'd see the year when I was learning how to live all over again because of the dark, winter of soul. So much has happened from there to here. Some of that began in the first fruits of life when soccer was saving my (lonely) life.
Looking back, I noticed how this was all an offering.
As it is now, we are in another year of Soccer. And yes, there is something special about a team sport your kids love to play, even when it is less dramatic than saving your life this time. I have been getting a sideline view of my young people playing with all their heart as I pace and cheer in a voice my younger son compared to "shouting like a bird, chirping for it's life." Because obviously, soccer is dramatic.
So here it is--Fall. And what of these days which flit around like a restless Gold Finch? I barely have time to admire the yellow breast, the tiny shocks of color, before it's flying off to perch on a distant branch.
I pause to breathe. Out my dining room window, I glance at my boys playing on the trampoline with their cousin and I appreciate the sly warmth of what is leaving and embrace what is coming. I gather my loose ends and wonder where they lead. There are things I want to do but life gets busy and I only hope that I am doing it in a way that honors this one, wild one I've been given.
As the world spins, it is with words I stop and go backwards. I can look from this vantage point and 'though I can't see up ahead, I can see the path behind me.
Writing is a trail of finding our way home. Perhaps of finding our way out, but also, of finding the life in this small moment. Of noticing the pebbles, the leaf, the caressing wind, and the little (rapidly growing into what is becoming less and less, "little") humans in our midst's. We may not be able to so slow them down, but we can see, acknowledge, and pull over to grab as much as we can. Only when we are waiting does time move slow and push the limits of being obscene. So we write it down, to remember, to leave a trail of what life brought us and how far we've come, or how little we've moved at all, but we will see it. For surely, God was in the place and we didn't know it.
But we want too.
I want too.
And we write, despite ourselves. Despite the landscape. Because we need to breathe in or out of season and writing has this way of waking alive our souls from it's deep slumber. For we shall know.
"When Jacob awoke from his sleep, he said, 'Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.'” Genesis 28:16 HCSB
Follow me to Laura's and Kelli's.