The first time I put my feet on the little path to the place where love lives now, I thought, “I’d fix these bricks. I’d clean up these flower beds and I’d add some pine straw as a border.”
I walked in the empty house back then, high ceilings and wide open space, functional and sparse. I moved through the hall and tried with all my heart; but, couldn’t sense heart or home. I thought, “I’d put a rocker there or I might make this a mudroom.”
Today, in my daughter’s country kitchen, I baked spaghetti, thick cheesy pasta merged with a rich sauce as I looked out wide uncurtained window, a little rooster on the ledge. The clear glass, the length of wide sink,impossible not to gaze towards a misty gray sky flecked with blackbirds.
My daughter napped on the sofa under her worn soft blanket. I sat with journal on lap, glancing again, again towards the narrow window of the front porch and the one past the foyer, in her dining room. It perfectly frames what seems to be miles of trees and peach fields. This window unveiled too, thin gauzy fabric opened to the side.
The leaves on the trees in front were shiny wet, like oil painted canvas, still the cardinal and thrush were easy to find as they danced upwards and round and round.
The brick path greeted me again this morning. The welcome, an unfinished pattern, still incomplete.
I smile when I see the Christmas tree, the pillow on porch swing. I love the changes love has made, my daughter’s “touch” on the big house, their home for now. Even more beautiful will be the one that will come, in time and with plans prepared and waiting.
He has made everything beautiful in His time.