I've been working on the second post about our trip, but until the pictures are finished (ahem, Mr. Bump), I'm going to hold off on posting it. I love a blog entry with photos, don't you?
Anyway, in lieu of that post, I leave you with this one. I came across this poem today and it seems to say what I've been feeling lately, better than I can say it.
In the Middle
of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
and a grey sky lowers the horizon. Our children almost grown,
our parents gone, it happened so fast. Each day, we must learn
again how to love, between morning's quick coffee
and evening's slow return. Steam from a pot of soup rises,
mixing with the yeasty smell of baking bread. Our bodies
twine, and the big black dog pushes his great head between;
his tail is a metronome, 3/4 time. We'll never get there,
Time is always ahead of us, running down the beach, urging
us on faster, faster, but sometimes we take off our watches,
sometimes we lie in the hammock, caught between the mesh
of rope and the net of stars, suspended, tangled up
in love, running out of time.
Part of this feeling is that this is my favorite time of year to be at home, in my house, at Bumpalot, and I feel like I'm missing it. I haven't had a moment to enjoy the smell of wet and mouldering leaves, to pull out last year's sweaters and scarves and gloves, or spend a cold and rainy night baking cookies, drinking tea, curling up on the couch with my wonderful husband and a good book. The trajectory of my next couple of weeks seems out of my control. My precious time with fall is out of my grasp. I was away for the beginning, and since we're in Southern California this weekend it seems like I might even to miss the end. Life is busy, crazy with work and coming down off a trip and gearing up for another one. Our house is a mess, the laundry is piled everywhere, the mail is in piles and things are rotting away in our vegetable drawer. And I know it's terrible to complain about any of it because it's all been the wonderful stuff, but there it is.
I'm hoping this weekend, as we spend some time with dear old friends celebrating at the wedding of one of the dearest, reconnecting with people from different times of my life, that we'll be able to take off our watches and just enjoy every minute of it.