Sunday, February 12, 2012

Whispering Pines


It's winter here at Moraine, and things couldn't be more still.  Our family moved here in November, with a new baby due any moment, wide-eyed with anticipation.  Now that we've been here a few months our lives have taken a whole new pace.  We watched as the acres and acres changed from blazing red, to a mottled brown, and now - a frosty gray. I could spend so much time explaining the sounds, the smells, and the colors that this winter has made me more aware of...

Back patio.

Stepping outside the front door on our way to church this morning, I found myself struck by the silence.  A frigid 19 degrees and no sign of movement - not the slightest breeze. I miss seeing green, but the amount of light that passes through the house and between the trees every day here makes the wait worthwhile.

It's been a mild winter.  We have had our share of freezing cold days, but we manage to stay warm.  Each and every one of us.

There have been so many changes for our family as part of moving here, but the important part is that we're all adjusting together.  Trading in our fenced-in back yard for 800 wooded acres and parking on the street for a mile long driveway that isn't even paved has given us a chance to slow down - zoom out - take things at our own pace.  It's hard to roll with things, to take life at life's pace.  So many days of my life, countless, have been just a blink. Before I know it, the day is over and the sun is down and nothing is complete.  Here on Moraine, the days come to a close with a new awareness.  We watch the sun settle in below the pond through the trees.  We watch the moon appear past the farm fields and then it is night.  There is so much closure in watching the day end. A total sense of completion.  Morning appears and there are a dozen deer munching the chilly grass in the side yard and I know it is a new day. That - to me - is invaluable.


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