We are standing on the doorstep of September. The mornings have rested low and misty and the air is welcoming and cool, appropriate for this month of beginnings. I always picture September green, even though here in California it is the month of sparkling summer weather. Still I think of it as opening in leafy newness.
This September marks our deciding for a second time (the first when Ben went to gradschool) to stay in California, a decision speckled with beginnings: a new job for Ben, a pre-school for Silas (on his first day yesterday he walked straight into the classroom over to the cars and ramps on the bright blue rug, sat down and never looked up again -- I had to crawl into his line of vision for a kiss goodbye), the end of Eden's "fourth trimester," the shift from bitty infancy to chubby babyhood. Having two babies is familiar now -- to Silas too -- and navigating our days is no longer bewlidering. A new rhythm is taking shape in our lives and will begin to emerge as the weeks pass.
In this rhythm is a certainty. We stood at the crossroads of DC and California for so many months, waiting on jobs and on God to clear a space. During that time I let life's details float into limbo: I waited til the last minute to RSVP for an east coast wedding, I let the loft grow piles and dust, I didn't buy holiday plane tickets, I gave little thought to where Eden will sleep after the cradle. Yesterday I found I am slowly plucking these things from the air and pulling them back into my daily gravity. It feels good to settle. I cleaned off my desk yesterday and next week will find my spot in the loft once more among paints, journals, and books of poems. A fresh September start.