Cheerios and Sunsets

The recent gray skies and fall breeze have been sending nostalgic whispers to tease me. I say tease because I can’t catch them. One will jump up out of nowhere, kiss me, and I’ll sit, frozen, trying to hold on to the memory, the feeling, the scent or longing from the past.

It’s been happening all the time, and without warning. Today my banana tasted like the ones I used to eat in my cheerios. I chewed slowly and closed my eyes, back at the kitchen table with my sisters, in our pajamas on a slower day.

And I remembered being whisked away from school by my mom, for orthodontist appointments, optometrist appointments, what have you. I loved those days, not just because I got out of school, but because it would be me and mom, for a while. I’d want to freeze time driving in her car, sitting with her in the lounge, too young and too in the moment to be aware of the magic she held over me.

Every year autumn's breath wakes me up, alerting me to the beauty my friends, the grace of women who let their hair gray, the speed at which I’ve been running, the joy of holding coffee in my mouth a little bit longer before swallowing.

Yesterday I biked around the lake, and then sat to watch the sunset. I prayed and listened, and while we talked God wove a sunset so glorious I wanted to shift from a sitting position to a kneeling position. But if people noticed then I wouldn’t be invisible anymore, and I desperately wanted to be invisible. I was talking to God about all sorts of things, but soon He hushed me with a slow reaching of sun rays to water, and all I could say was, “Beautiful.”