Give me all the daring winds that shake the trees, launching the flight of the maple seeds down, down, down. Give me all the rolling hues that stretch across the sky, greys and blues--the clouds, light and dark. Give me all the roaring and the booming and the rustling winds that hold us captive. Let me stand beneath it all as the whole earth declares his glory. Let the spring rains fall, I won’t mind. In the wildest weather, my soul delights. In the wildest weather, how can we not feel so beautifully alive?
The song that reaches in and stirs the deep, fueling the fire that moves my brush. It sends my fingers dancing upon the keys as if they were a steady rain healing the earth. The earth of my mind. The flow of words colliding on the screen, making a home, finding sense in the stillness of the day’s end. A cool breeze sweeps over the hours well lived and through home well used.
The family gathered over French toast for dinner and the baby sits with one knee raised, her face covered in a purple puree. She laughs at something, it could be nothing. They laugh. Our eyes meet and we laugh too. The cycle begins again. Laughing at the laughter. At her. At them. At us.
We might as well be kings swimming in gold.
Tired kings swimming in gold.
Gold disguised as teaching lessons, making lunches, working hard, standing in the wind, and having so much to love.
It was a Monday.