I woke up this morning to a fall day. There is a palpable chill in the air. It's nobly grey and harmoniously rainy. This is my most beloved kind of day. The kind I imagine well stocked in Mother Nature's treasure trove. It's lazy to be recreated. The sun is slow to shine, the birds softly to sing, the streets quietly deserted. It's intimate, deliberate and cozy. The only problem is that it belongs in late September or early October not the fresh start of August.
The kids are still sleeping. My resident teenager has been living up to all sleep loving stereotypes, but Miss Bit does not smile when she wakes to only half a day. I share her sentiment, yet I am selfish for just a little more languid peace and meditative silence. She has become such a night owl this summer, and when one is up every night to welcome the new day, one can scarcely hope to rise with the morning sun. I could be more of a task master or naysayer, but stricter bedtimes loom in the very near future so I choose the path of least resistance. I refrain. I mute my barbs and quiet my mother's wisdom. I have found that it's not true what they say: youth is not wasted on the young.
I see how my kids are going through life. They are living it. Every simple moment is a delight and I cannot help but be awed by the magic I witness if only I stop to bear it. The young know how to purely be. here. now. There is an admirable authenticity in the way they are able to live in the moment. They don't look back or spring forward. They don't have to. Sadly, I can scarcely remember such a carefree existence punctuated by wonder, and bookended by joy and grace. I am not ashamed to live vicariously, nor to admit that from them there is much to learn about life.