The night air is cool and crisp. A faint breeze carries the scents of the farms nearby: the hay, cows and the musty smell of wet leaves. The dark and stillness let me remember for a moment that in a short amount of time it will be too cold to really enjoy my yard. Soon I'll prefer mittens and cocoa to the grass and night sky. The year has passed so fast. My shoulders tense a bit as I consider all the things I still have yet to do to prepare for winter.
I can't shut off from the worries of the day sometimes. The should-haves and need-tos too often drown out the wants, wishes and dreams until they fade into the background. I know this about myself- that sometimes my focus is so deep everything turns mundane, routine and dull. I push too hard and plan too much. All fades into grayness and begins to seem so purposeful that it hardly feels like living. And yet out here the trees are so vibrant and the weather so beautiful it seems a shame to waste it. I'm surrounded by such simple beauty if I would simply open my eyes. I want to fill my lungs with it and pull the season in close around me. I want to, I need to, slow down and savor it like the gift it is. Too soon it will have left.
As the sky grows darker, the chill sets in. So does the dew, and our shoes are now wet and slick. I breathe in deep. This is my season.
We stand silently in awe as flames lick the sky, my husband, daughter and I. All three of us are captivated for just a moment by the flicker and glow. There is a reverence in this firelight. I move in closer for warmth and am grateful for the reason to pause. So often pulled different directions by life, here we are together again, if just for tonight. I feel suddenly both safe and whole.
I just love it out here.
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