Just Another Day...

My foot left the concrete step landing on the soft sod of my front yard. The rains have loosened the ground—not mud or mush—but grass afloat like a summer dock on a small lake.  

The air had some humid warmth to it capturing more aromas of fall than the previous several days. Scents of fresh fallen rain hybridized with decomposing leaves mixed like apple pie and cheese, a kiss and a squeeze. 

I looked to my left into the woods and noticed the trees and scrubs standing there scantily clad.  It seemed like the rains hastened the undressing of their glorious dreamcoat of many colors.  They were all but bare, barely clinging to the last of their fig leaves to cover their shamed nakedness, grey and shy they stood really still hoping I wouldn’t notice them.

I turned straightaway to my car to fire it up.  Tay would be dragging her carcass out the door momentarily and we would be dodging the potholes that have turned our road into a mogul field.  For a little over a week we weaved our way back and forth like Olympic Super G skiers slaloming our way to the pavement a mile south.  The graders haven’t found a window of weather to level the gravel, so it has turned into the Appalachian Trail over the past two weeks.

As Tay hopped into the car this morning, we found some soothing morning music and wove our way down our dirt road holding hands as we commented on how much deejays talk in the morning when we really want a peppy tune to put a bounce into our step—a spark in our spirit, but alas, endless droning and kvetching about nonsense.  

Just when we found a song worth listening to we were turning into the school driveway and making our way to the drop-off line.  There was a low lying fog hovering ominously over the practice fields just beyond the tennis courts, more proof that the land and air are getting their signals crossed this time of year neither knowing who is going to be hotter or colder than the other on any given morning.  And it is just this confusion that gives me this nostalgic feeling associated to all sorts of childhood memories as I sit with my own child waiting on cluttered and confused drivers to make up their groggy minds about how to navigate the mogul field and mine field that is “school drop-off” every morning.  With a kiss and an “I love you” I send my Sophomore into the wide and wild word of the halls of High School.

This is just another day in the life.  And what a life it is.