The perfection of today

I'm standing in the middle of what they call their front yard and I call a meadow. The air smells of the sweet smoke from the fireplace, of leaves and moist soil. When I look to the north, I see snow dusted across the mountain top in the distance, to the west there are two shelves of clouds with enough space between to allow a bright orange strip of sunset to glow through. I turn towards the house, the life within framed by lights through the windows, the glow of the fireplace. Breathing deep, I think, remember this, take this home with you.



Today was of the earth and all the gifts of color and life, of seasons and change. Today was about little hands, wide eyes and big experiences.



Today we put out fingers in the dirt when we planted the bulbs that will break through in the spring, and we wrapped our hands around rakes to gather fallen leaves of autumn. We found ladybugs and rocks and even hugged a few trees. I stood still with rich soil clinging to my hands and leaf bits on my clothes, and returned to the sounds and smells from visiting my grandmother's house when I was a child. I remembered the crunch of the leaves on the sidewalk, the scratch of the rake, the joy of running and jumping into a big pile of leaves. I remembered my father standing near and delighting in my joy. I watch the girls plow through their own piles, listen to their laughter, hold tight the lines of the circles.




I glance towards Troy, in his own moment with Caroline, joy and laughter, giggles and flight. My heart skips a beat in recognition. There is nothing in this world quite like the love and trust between a good father and a therefore happy daughter.



I remember again that, next to love, the most wonderful, most joyous thing we do is the sharing and trust that begin there. Friend to friend, lover to lover, parent to child.