Fleeting

We are in the midst of perfect fall weather - not surprisingly - it is the middle of October after all. For yesterday's run, I headed down the street into a neighbor's wooded driveway (thus delaying the slog up Heart Attack Hill, leading out to the rest of the neighborhood), and was surprised at how much the leaves had changed. From our house perched atop a smaller hill, my view still affords me lots of chlorophyll, but in the woods I was surrounded by golds and oranges as the afternoon sun streamed through the canopy of branches. Stunning.

This morning I am hunkered in the dark kitchen with rain pounding on the windows. The heavy boughs of the trees beyond the deck hang listless and sodden. Yesterday's jewel tones look drab in front of the steel-gray sky. The passing train down the valley had sounded jovial, convivial in the bright summer mornings, but today is lonesome and wistful. This, however, is a good feeling, surrounded by autumn. Inside the quiet house, surrounded by the spicy smell of pumpkin bread baking in the nearby oven, I am warm and content. I know this season, like spring, is about fleeting moments such as this. Next month at this time the leaves will have fallen from the trees and the air will be much colder. The memory of yesterday's run through the warm breeze of mid-fall will be distant.

Fading memories of dark autumn mornings not so long ago call to me now. I can feel distinctly the soft wool of the family room rug under me, and the cool wood of our coffee table supporting my back as I watch J in her snap-up footie pajamas. Her hair is still fuzzy and limited on the crown of her head. She is busy, opening the table's many drawers to discover the tiny stuffed animals I have hidden there. She is putting them in her mouth. She is smiling at me with her dark sparkling eyes and testing out her consonant sounds. Now she is in her exer-saucer, working all the springy and spinning parts. I sing to her. I play the little tunes that come out of the safari truck attached at the top. Her face lights up as her favorite song comes around again - for the 5th time.

Though I am anxious and somehow still adjusting after 8 months to being a stay-at-home mom, I am filled with the distinct thrill of love as I pick J up, ready to carry her to her high chair for the next meal. The terry cloth covering her body is warm over her solid little frame. There aren't words to describe the feel of her soft, fuzzy head against my cheek. She is babbling as her chubby fist clutches at my sleeve.

I blink, and it is 6 years later. She gives me a hug absentmindedly in the morning before getting on a bus that takes her away for almost 10 hours before returning in the late afternoon. So as I work and cook and clean and run, I wait for her. And today I watch the rain and know all this will change, too.