Golden

03 February 2011

The blinking cursor chimed in my empty text box: You are out of practice.

After a year and a half of writing notes in Spanish (Por favor! venga a la iglesia! Lea sus escrituras! No se olvide sus oraciones!) I'm back. Sort of. It's like starting first grade over again, with not enough words to say all the big feelings inside, and not enough patience to wait for the right ones, and--now, finally--not enough pride to care.

Because it's fall outside and I can't help but write about the walk through that lovely overhang of sunshine seeping from the branches of the golden trees. They lean over, heavy with the weight of leaves, painted in autumn glow, beaming beneath the clouds in golden, fall glory.

I just had to stop for a moment and enjoy: face upturned, arms thrown wide!

Fall is here!

was.

Yesterday morning I woke up to frost.