Today marks 9 months of Boston living. My world is a fading landscape of reds and oranges and yellows. My children are tired of me telling then to look at this tree! that tree! those colors! I will never tire of it.
I feel and see the seasons. I’ve lived in extremes. Many years in Florida have me familiar with humid and hot and vivid pinks and greens. A couple of years in isolated Alaska have me familiar with 6 months of wet followed by 6 months of snowy wet with a constant palette of gray. Neither place had a natural rhythm that moved you from spending a lot of time outside to inside and from inside to outside.
But here we are feeling the change of seasons pull us indoors after a season spent outside.
God saw fit to have us live in a season-less place for my kids’ earliest years. But truly, I think a change in seasons to those long, same days would have fed my heart and mind and soul. I don’t take them for granted now, though. The pull inside is bringing about more conversations with older kids who need intentional conversation.
In one more month, this place here I’ve used to write will have been around for 10 years. My first thought is that that’s insane. But I love reading back through old posts. Some posts bring tears to my eyes. Some posts make me roll my eyes. Some posts remind me of beautiful things I’ve read and listened to that I have since forgotten about. I am more confident in who I am and where I am. I am quicker to be thankful for all the different types of women and families and ways of living life. And perhaps most importantly, I do not care and am not bothered by the fact that what is shared here is just a small part of who I am and who my family is. After spotty writing here for a couple of years, I realize that was a hang-up.
So on we go.