Little One running down our gravel driveway. Just for the joy of running. He zooms happy.
Hoo-ha-hoo-hooo! He says, when I say we will ride bikes on the driveway at a certain set time. He can’t wait.
Sometimes he says- Whoo-hooo-hooo! Almost like Tigger but in his own inimitable way. He is light of foot and fleet.
Love can be an ache.
Deck sitting as leaves turn golden, still green. The russets haven’t turned- yet. Their flamed glory still hidden. Sitting in a golden sunlit bower. What is it about the light in this Carolina autumn? There is something so mellow, golden, glory warm about it. Leaves flame out their life. Little Boy wants to know why they have to die. Why do the colors come when they die? I tell him the tree is getting ready to sleep for winter. We will read more about this. We have some favorites.
Why is the beauty exposed in the dying? Yet it is.
He brings me two leaves. Pink cheeked. Eyes glisten. The leaves are so big- they can cover his face. Joy palpable. Did I appreciate enough, I wonder. These precious gifts of childhood- when they bring you their wonder in all their finds of joy. Leaves, Lizards, Flowers, Rocks. Seen through that wide-eyed wonder.
We read a sign post on the way to Asheville. Something like: Don’t fear change. Think of the Fall. And all around us- as far as I can see- rolling mountains of color. Why fear change- look at the beauty it can bring. The glory. It is glory. Will I still fear change?
I drive down a dark mountain road and I choke on loneliness. I choke and gasp and swallow it down. It presses the chest. How can it take so by surprise- that aching hurt?
I drive and it is dark. It is dark and I ponder “street lights.” Some homes seem to have their very own. Should we? But how- and then would it light up the night and destroy our velvet blackness- that covers our sleep like a sweet, heavy blanket? Just- driving down that road- in the dark, dark, darkness- it can be un-nerving. By, how nice the homelights shine on the road winding up to our home. They shine out like glowing beacons of welcome. Lights on the mountain. Like golden star shine in darkness.
I look at my family. I give them my heart. I build. On the Rock. In the dark, in the golden light, in the sweet relief of spring, and in the whirl of autumn, and while the wave crashes- winter.
I lay on my back, look up at a perfect egg shell blue sky. I watch leaves twirl from impossibly high. They glide. It storms and we watch the wind shake the trees and the leaves swirl. Swirling and in no time- they cover the ground. The wind grabs at our hair and lights up our eyes. We come in- pink-cheeked and rosy. Better for time outdoors. Better. I breathe deep. I think I see our mountain property with new eyes.
I write and I glory in it. Words. They run over. Run over like molten gold tipped from the cup of soul.