When he was small, my youngest son had a habit of filling his pockets with treasures he encountered in his daily adventures. I didn't always understand the value he saw in his chosen objects -- really, how many rocks and sticks could one boy keep? In his eyes, though, each one was beautiful and important. Life is just like that on a larger scale, isn't it? We gather up the precious bits of our experiences and save them all to learn from and enjoy later. Perhaps you'll find a little something here that you'd like to keep in your own pockets. Thanks for visiting.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013


The arrival of what seems like fall weather has caught me off-guard this week; I wasn't expecting it so soon.  As I watch the delicate branches of the willow trees being tossed back and forth by the wind that rustles through them, I realize that I suddenly feel just like they might:  restless, with the sense that I'm constantly moving between here and there, then and now and not sure where I really want to be.  The cool air seems to blow right through me, stirring up a mind and a heart that that had fallen into the lulled rhythms of summer, and I now feel the urgency of thought and the pangs of wistfulness that always accompany this particular change of season.

So much of life passes us by without us even noticing.  I plant tiny seeds in the ground in June and suddenly one day there are lush green vines wrapping their tendrils around each other and giant stems and leaves bursting outward and upward, apparently unaware of the wire mesh that attempts to contain them.  In one instant I am holding a small boy's sweet hand in mine, or feeling the soothing weight of his tousled head resting contentedly against my arm while I read him bedtime stories, and then in what seems like the blink of an eye, this very same boy, who is now almost as tall as I am, is turning twelve years old.  I can't help but wonder, when exactly did all of this happen?

Yesterday I read this post written by a blogger friend, Summer, and I was at first surprised to feel tears welling up in my eyes in reaction to her beautiful photos, taken as her young family stood on the shore in the early morning hours to observe an August sunrise together.  But then I understood.  This shift in seasons from summer to fall, from carefree days filled with laughter and time and a chance to just be who we are to responsibility-filled days that urge us to push forward, to grow, to become something else, makes me keenly aware of how quickly life rolls along, of how we are carried from one day to the next as if on a wind.  And that constant moving forward is exciting and full of potential, but it's hard not to be pulled back sometimes to what has come before, and to wonder if I've lived those fleeting moments well.  I feel a strong desire to grab hold of something in these short days as they pass, to attach meaning to them, to make them count for something.  I don't want to let the sun rise unnoticed countless mornings in my lifetime, and then one day realize, when it's almost too late, exactly what I've missed out on.

This restless late summer feeling reminds me that once again, change is ahead. While I might be tempted sometimes to rush headlong into the coming months to see what I will find there, I know that the best way to have no regrets about the past is to live fully and fearlessly right now.


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