I wrote this last week before our one-year-old cat, Huck, got sick. We had to put him to sleep Friday evening around 5:30. I miss these moments with our little buddy.
When I went out to run errands this morning, I almost didn't bring a jacket with me. On an excessive whim, I snatched a tattered fleecy sweatshirt, the one with the cigarette hole in the elbow (I don't smoke, but I used to spend a lot of time on porchs with smokers). The moment I stepped outside, I was reminded that it is no longer August - it was cool, lower 60s, a cold breeze and a lingering fog in the trees of the school yard. I closed the door behind myself and quickly shoved into the sleeves, gathering the cloth around me.
Summer is saying goodbye. I know Ohio well enough to know there are still a few hot days ahead, but I know that Summer's grasp is gone. And our short-lived beautiful Autumn is coming into her prime.
It was a beautiful summer.
Oh, for lots of reasons. But I say that because that was the characteristic that struck me the most - Beauty.
It shocked me, really, the loveliness of my blessings in those hot months.
It was always the simplest, most daily of things, that would stun and stop me. That would punch the air right out of my chest and command me to stop and see.
Because I work in the afternoons, I often get the luxury of sleeping in as late as I want. Dave didn't have classes this summer, and his job schedule is flexible. Many mornings I would have already run, eaten, and showered before I would wake him up. It was a delicious freedom.
And we have this cat, a wide-eyed black furball I named Huckleberry.
And there were several mornings I would come out of the bathroom, Dave still sleeping, and I'd be dabbing a peach-colored towel to my tangled wet hair as I walked into the bedroom. The window on my side of the bed faces east, and when the sun creeps above the roof of the neighboring building, yellow morning sun falls across the sheets. And that black cat would be cuddled into the crook of Dave's sleeping elbow. Huckleberry would look at me, amber eyes wide, bright and innocent like a startled child; Dave's closed lashes casting minute shadows on his stubbled cheeks. And always, it was so quiet: the cat sighing, cars on the street, Dave breathing. The sunshine would gather, puddled gold, in the hollow of Dave's throat, and I couldn't catch my breath.
I got to wake up to this, all summer long. What a gift.
When I went out to run errands this morning, I almost didn't bring a jacket with me. On an excessive whim, I snatched a tattered fleecy sweatshirt, the one with the cigarette hole in the elbow (I don't smoke, but I used to spend a lot of time on porchs with smokers). The moment I stepped outside, I was reminded that it is no longer August - it was cool, lower 60s, a cold breeze and a lingering fog in the trees of the school yard. I closed the door behind myself and quickly shoved into the sleeves, gathering the cloth around me.
Summer is saying goodbye. I know Ohio well enough to know there are still a few hot days ahead, but I know that Summer's grasp is gone. And our short-lived beautiful Autumn is coming into her prime.
It was a beautiful summer.
Oh, for lots of reasons. But I say that because that was the characteristic that struck me the most - Beauty.
It shocked me, really, the loveliness of my blessings in those hot months.
It was always the simplest, most daily of things, that would stun and stop me. That would punch the air right out of my chest and command me to stop and see.
Because I work in the afternoons, I often get the luxury of sleeping in as late as I want. Dave didn't have classes this summer, and his job schedule is flexible. Many mornings I would have already run, eaten, and showered before I would wake him up. It was a delicious freedom.
And we have this cat, a wide-eyed black furball I named Huckleberry.
And there were several mornings I would come out of the bathroom, Dave still sleeping, and I'd be dabbing a peach-colored towel to my tangled wet hair as I walked into the bedroom. The window on my side of the bed faces east, and when the sun creeps above the roof of the neighboring building, yellow morning sun falls across the sheets. And that black cat would be cuddled into the crook of Dave's sleeping elbow. Huckleberry would look at me, amber eyes wide, bright and innocent like a startled child; Dave's closed lashes casting minute shadows on his stubbled cheeks. And always, it was so quiet: the cat sighing, cars on the street, Dave breathing. The sunshine would gather, puddled gold, in the hollow of Dave's throat, and I couldn't catch my breath.
I got to wake up to this, all summer long. What a gift.
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