This may be the last mudpie…and not only for this season. A second Summer in November and an injured ankle gave me the pause and grace to notice this moment for what it is. My baby is six, there may be more mudpies, but this is one of the last for her. I’m thankful that I was able stand on the deck quietly, letting her be little for a little while longer. I wish for her a long life of muddy knees and dirt under her fingernails. Tangled hair and lack of care over it. Mostly, that the joy remains all the days of her life.
The air moves slower, though the wind hurries the clouds across the moon. Bees and butterflies alike rest on the hardy asters, soaking in the sunshine and beauty of these Autumn days. Busy still, but seemingly unhurried somehow. As if they know the gathering is important, but so is the joy you take in the process. Especially now, when winter is knocking hard and heavy at the door.
I sit with them. Knowing the tasks that need be done before the season truly turns. Trusting in the perfect combination of days to ensure enough sunshine is absorbed while the necessary is completed. Feeling in my soul that the only necessity is enough warmth stored in my bones to last through February.
The Autumn slows me every year. Causing me to look hard at the activities I’ve signed us up for and the plans I’ve made. It asks me if all of this busy is sustainable, required, good? Have I allowed enough time in my week for serving those who need help? Have I filled the hours too full to be there when a friend is in need? Do I spread myself too thin to give my best to the ones I most dearly love?
I’m hoping for nights by the fire without snow on the ground yet this fall. Perhaps those moments will be stolen from required tasks. I hope to invite my most dear loves to sit quiet in the final blaze of Autumn. Not rushing to the next thing, rather enjoying this moment as it is, for what it is. For what it is, is no less than what is needed.