Autumn seems to spark a sense of hope for me (when I am not fretting over a sluggish real estate market, shattering cosmetics, dull skin, sore feet and sparsely decorated bank accounts.) I love the way the leave and wood fire smoke smell like new clothes from the Bon Marche in Eugene, Oregon circa 1983 and how the swirling leaves and gust of wind remind me of wind sprints and crunches at dusk. I am reminded of the way tomorrow is just around the corner, tempting me with all the things that might happen.
I am finding this all multiplied now as I spend my mornings with the girls peeking through windows and exclaiming, “Frost!” Me, not them. I am excited to share these things with them, reveal the magic. They reciprocate by breathlessly calling to me to point out a bird, a leaf, a stick, the sky. We spin and collapse, hug and hide. The natural wonder peppered with new things that make me gasp.
“Did you see? Did you see that mom? It’s ‘mom’. Ya just go two m’s with an ‘o’ in the middle. And then with ‘dad’ it’s d’s with an ‘a’, which is an ‘o’ with a tail.”
One baby can write and another can ride, the last is aiming to do both, and then some.
They are pure magic. Sleeping and awake. I’m trying to sleep better, dream better even, so that when I am awake and with them, I really am with them.