I wrapped a scarf around my neck this morning. Walking Sully into school, the air was crisp, leaves fell softly to the ground. There's a charge in the air. A veil softly blankets the world of then and now, so thin it's as if we can touch both. Two mornings in a row I have woken to a mysterious flock of white birds dotting the verdant field in the park. I am quite sure they are gulls, but I have never seen such a mass of them in one place in this area. Perhaps all the flooding has pushed them to new ground. I caved and bought a bag of organic, Colorado apples. Jonathans. New to me and divine. They remind me of a cross between a red delicious and a pink lady. So now it's apple things, and braised meat, and I'm okay with that.
I've been returning in the mornings to this quite house. The boys' scent still fresh everywhere I turn. This is the first time in six years that I have had time completely to myself. Two full hours of not having to open my mouth and speak a single word out-loud should I not want to. It's glorious. I exhale. I reflect. I feel awake and inspired and clear. My introverted, independent-self, beginning to feel balanced again. And then I scoop my children back up, one at a time, and bring all of our sweet, crazy cacophony back into my day. Golden light falls around us. Cooking smells evoke sweet, old memories--that thin veil between two worlds--true. Fully here to set the story of my own family's life. Mysterious, divine autumn. Hello.
