Saturday, September 7, 2013

singing hallelujah

We roll into the empty parking lot, 
windows down, afternoon light all 
angled and golden.  In the backseat, the girls 
are "singing hallelujah for the first time," 
along with The Head and The Heart.  

It is the begining of the first weekend of the school year 
and so we come to the river.

Wading in, I try to memorize the feel 
of moving water against my legs 
even as the current crawls to a whisper.

I lean deep into 'lasts' this time of year.  
Maybe I shouldn't.  Maybe I should be 
someone who lives easily in the present, 
devouring the seconds and minutes 
as I move  through them.  

But the end of summer 
makes me nostalgic in ways I can't ignore.  

This could be my last river swim until next summer.
This could be the last week we sleep
with every window in the house
This will be the last summer
my children look this small,
need me 
in this particular way.

I float on my back, 
feet pointed downriver the way 
you're supposed to.  

I watch and listen as the girls
play orphan cave sisters, 
gathering seaweed for the long
voyage to the north shore.

And for a second
I get a glimpse 
of the perfect completeness
of this moment, this perfect arc

of sunlit afternoon, of ending summer,
of my daughters; exactly as they are

And I remember that this day is ours,
and so is the next, that the future is one 
enormous mystery to move through.
Lucky us.*

*My friend, Nici, wrote a blog post last spring that ends with these same two words.  Simple as they may be, I think about them often.  Lucky us.  Helps keep everything in perspective.


Sian said...

I feel this way every September especially now I have children. Then I too move onto embracing the new beginnings that follow.

In fact I feel nostalgic and lucky all the time being a Mama x

OhGreenTherapy said...

Beautiful sentiment. The river and end of summer do it for me too. Enjoy it - seems like you already are!

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