Seasons

Jilda had worked hard today on projects she'd had on her list for months. She'd planned to cook, but I offered to handle dinner. 

She eyed me a little suspiciously. I cook two things. Chili, and cornbread. Actually I do a mean waffle, but we normally eat those as the sun's coming up.

It was easy to see she was tired, so I jumped in the truck and headed to the nearest town to fetch some chicken.

We normally eat dinner around six and it was a little early, so on the way home I swung by the river. The forks at sunset is a cross between the alpha and omega. Watching the mist lay on the water as the sun casts long shadows is how I picture time, before it began, or maybe after it ends. 

This evening when I pulled into the lot, there was a parked pickup. Normally when you see a vehicle, there are people at waters' edge fishing, wishing, or skimming flat rocks across the green surface of the water. But today, I saw no one.

When I flipped the key off and stepped out, I saw a man sitting in his pickup with the windows rolled down.

I greeted him casually and said, "I love the river this time of day." He nodded slowly in understanding and said, "I come here to think."

I nodded and stepped down to the water.  I know why he comes here to think.  It's the one place I know within driving distance, where time slows to the pace of a lazy river.

This places changes from day to day, season to season. Soon autumn will be here and the color, and the angle of light will be different.  

It's like the portrait taken of people at different seasons in their lives.  In the spring it thrives with life and energy. In summer you can see things grow if you stand there long enough. In autumn, it ties up loose ends, and winter it rests.

It's a beautiful thing to see, to experience, and to acknowledge.

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