It is so beautiful this morning that I have opened the hallway doors and the kitchen door to let some of the fresh, cool, light-polished air inside. It is that day in August when fall's distant whisper is first heard.
There is a goodness about today. Last night was a sweet one with my husband and we held each other close and after all these years, there is such joy in that. I never for one second forget how lucky I am in this good man's love. The fact of his loving me continues to astound me and his love over the years has sustained and healed me in ways that I could not have experienced with anyone else on this earth. His very bones are made of steadfast goodness which yes, I can compare to this day's light and air and scent of earth, of leaf.
The boys are coming but not until later this afternoon. I am feeling...not so bad. Slow and a bit achy, but nothing horrible and I am going to take what I brought home from lunch yesterday which was the most delicious soup and add to it and make that our supper for tonight and make bread and do laundry and the chickens are already out and fed and tomorrow we are leaving for the east coast and my heart is so quietly happy to think of that. To think of the drive, the part of it beside the Indian River down to where we turn by the Sebastian River, to turn again on to the still-not-paved roads where I roamed as a child. They are made of white sand, those roads, and they gleam in the moonlight. The houses I knew as a child are still there, the river still flows and at sunset the giant fishes feed in the current, the great blue heron stands perched on one leg, patiently waiting for his supper on the sandbar, the dock where we will watch the sunset, my husband, this good man as he, too, takes part in the ritual of fishing, casting and reeling in, casting and reeling in, until the sun is truly set and we shall head up to the little cottage by the pool, by the river.