Purple pink sky gives way to black expanse.
A wind blows across the night bringing the scent of a fire pit from some family laughing and eating s'mores.
A strand of hair brushes my cheek and won't be tucked away. A rebel.
The crickets start their harmony, soothing my heart with each strum of their strings. In the distance a dog barks out his solo, long and mournful.
Gooseflesh on my legs, I tuck sweatered arms around my chest and breathe deep the last smells of summer.
Soon these summer smells will give way to the aroma of moist dirt and decaying leaves. These pink skies will turn dark gray and crimson leaves will fall from the trees, no longer trusting the arms that hold them. Crickets will turn to geese that honk in triumphant Vs through crisp skies with wispy clouds.
Summer days will disappear deep into the fog of fall and I'll long to conjure memories of laughing children with dripping popsicles. Tonight I'm glad I've had these days but I'm also glad cold days are ahead. The death and chill that accompany fall are welcome--can we truly appreciate the life-giving spring without the death-filled fall?
This time. This place. These smells. Those sounds. They are were not guaranteed. They are but a mercy and in my sorrow and in my shame and in my brokenness I am grateful for new life from death. As I sit chilled on this last summer-feeling fall night, I think everything is grace.
Even missing my mom.