I am alone today.
I step outside to water porch plants and realize the air breathes autumn. A fresh breeze has lifted the lid on the summer heaviness. The steam has evaporated. The leaves flirt with each other–dancing, teasing.
I run inside to grab my camera. I must capture this moment. It’s what I do lately. Try to fast freeze slices of life. And I find it hard to delete even imperfect images.
I need to swing. I head for the backyard.
And I’m a child again. I drag my feet in the dirt. Push myself higher over the garden. Feel the stomach rush and imagine I can touch the leaves with my toes. I lean back as far as I dare. Let my hair skim the ground.
The garden directly in front of me is overgrown, ripe with buried treasures. The cornfield towers beyond that.
A quilt dries on the line to my right, and the sun streams through the tree canopy to my left.
The sky is cloudless. Infinitely blue. Still. And I’m hurtling through it. A speck.
I need to lie down. And so I do. Ignoring the possibility of bugs or snakes or stains. The world takes on a new perspective from this angle. I smell the dirt and the dampness of the tall grass that tickles my cheeks. I run my fingers through it, wiggle my toes in it.
I notice details. How the trees sway. How the sinking sun is a spotlight through the open branches. How the pine cones nestle in overhead arms. A dragonfly hovers over a corn tassel, and swallows swoop and dip over the field. A plane flies north, and I wonder who is on it and where they are going–as I used to do years ago. I listen to the sounds of cicadas and birds and distant cars and trucks rushing somewhere.
But I am still. Watching. Listening.
This is my pilgrimage lately.
As I ache for simplicity. For childlike wonder. For stillness.
I grasp at wispy memories. The gentle plip of a fish at the lake’s surface. The scent of railroad tracks. A sandwich in a fern fort.
And I so snap pictures now. To remember and savor later.
I’m drawn to white and sparse and clean. And yet I find my pictures are usually filled with color. I don’t know why.
I rise and feel the dampness of my back and behind. Aware that something must have bitten me. I itch.
I gather some treasures. Symbolic of where I am on my journey.
At this moment.
And then I go back inside. Where laundry and dishes and bills wait. Adult things.
And I smile. As I remember the past, relish the present, and dream of the future.
My sister, my mom, and me.
Our children’s children.
Frozen in time.
Linked to L.L. Barkat’s On, In, and Around Mondays at Seedlings in Stone and to Claire Burge’s PhotoPlay prompt on Freeze Framing Life at High Calling Blogs.