Indian-Summer Kiss

"There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood;

Touch of manner, hint of mood,

And my heart is like a rhyme

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time."

-Bliss Carman

There are so many beautiful things to love right now.

There are maples with veins so red you hold your breath, knowing that soon the red in the veins will spread to the body of the leaves and turn the treetops scarlet as Rahab's thread.

There is a bit of a moon hanging low and copper over the field across the way in the pre-dawn hours, when you stay up too late and ought to be in bed but step out on the porch instead just to look at the majesty for a moment.

There are nights and nights of open-window weather which is enough to set the soul right again. Very little can be all that bad when a dark and beautiful chill is seeping through the screens.

There is the smell of mown grass baking hay-sweet in the riot of hazy sunlight, the aroma rising up to fill your nose when you make the trek, barefoot, to the mailbox.

There are cookies--smacking and powerful and punching with the amount of fresh ginger baked into them--cooling on a rack in sugar-sparkling rows.

There are books on the most fascinating aspects of history sitting on the shelf waiting for the moment in the day when I lay aside everything else and take one with me to the porch.

There are lazy evenings at the county fair in the company of friends, everyone pretending, for this moment, that nothing has changed; that no one has moved on; that we are all children again with nothing to do but squash together on the bleachers and watch bull-riding in almost horrified fascination.

There are free photo-prints arranged in a happy cloud on the wall, summoning un-looked-for memories from the recesses of your brain.

There are dewdrops silvering the roses and kittens squirming wiggly-warm next to their mothers, and late-night Sherlock marathons in the itty-bitty house across the land.

There are cotton-candy-eating sessions and then high-from-cotton-candy sessions afterward where we are much less brilliant conversationalists than we like to think, and we collapse against the counter waiting for the chicken-wings to get out of the oven and then, having seen them safely through the inferno, go straight to bed without eating any.

There are phone-calls after phone-calls, setting the pace for the business as a merciful storm--so much abundance of provision in that respect that Saturdays are work-days.

There are hugs to be given, and back-rubs to receive and dusty country roads to drive with the windows down and the music up.

There is feed to buy, and goats to chase off the berry-bushes, and scuppernongs to pick and suck and eat with the sour-zing running up and down your jaw like a trapped tickle.

It's Indian Summer, y'all, and God is just so amazingly good to me.

Home-grown Broadway

Sometimes the loves of the older kids pass down to the younger kids....in this case, they little guys have caught our Les Miz love and flayed the beans out of it. Seriously, this musical is in danger of being sung to extinction in our house like Wicked was before Les Miz introduced itself to us.....we need a new musical. :D But all that to say, a few weeks ago when Mama and Dad had their date night, all the younger kids got dressed up and had me record a few of their songs.

Cast:

Benjamin as Gavroche

Grace as young Cosette

Abigail as Eponine

Leah as Mdm Thenardier (well-stuffed, she begged me to tell you.)

I had another video  or two, but our internet allotment wouldn't bear uploading more videos to Youtube. Sorry. They were "Master of the House" and "On My Own"... :[ But I have three for you, and thought it might amuse you to see them. They aren't perfect, because of course I didn't wish to spoil the spontaneity and fun by endless practice. But enjoy my little stage-fever-brood. :)

Sunday Photo-Shoot

I keep a running list of Things I Need To Do in the blogging world that often includes filling out tags, scheduling guest-posts, formulating interview questions, and many another task that falls to those of us who contribute to multiple blogs. One of those tasks was taking a couple specific photos for a friend, but when Sarah and I went out, we turned it into a real photo-shoot Just For Fun. Sarah was a gem, forsaking her church-friends to trot across the field and play with the sunshine, and so here are the fruits of her labor. :D

Since we were lacking nice back-drops, we thought we'd attempt the sky. I suggested standing on a five-gallon bucket so I'd be taller than Sarah...

But that didn't work, as it was much windier and shinier up there. So I thought if Sarah stood on a bucket that might work....

Not so much. There was still a glare.

This is me, demonstrating how to fix that glare with a sheet of paper.... hee-hee.

So we turned me around into the shadows...

And then we retreated into the woods where we got the best shots and were able to film the video.

"Sarah...there's a tick. Sarah! A TICK!"

 I then attempted to look cool and author-ish with my writing journal all splayed out.

I succeeded in looking cluttered.

So we stopped taking pictures/videos of me and Sarah did a few "selfies"

^ Very cool Black Friday earrings that jingle like dog tags.

Heyyyy. At least it's not the Duck Face.

How was *your* Sunday afternoon?

A Poem for you... :)

Here's a poem I wrote today. :) The first two lines popped into my head directly after I was rudely awakened by a sunbeam in the car on the way home from a fabulous morning and afternoon of Black Friday shopping. :) (And on that note, who in tarnation needs to be making trouble to have fun? My older brother, my cousin, Sarah, and I, had a  blast together...the most outlandish thing we did was sing "On the Street Where You Live" at the top of our lungs in the Town Center of Virginia Beach...but that's another story. :P Anyway, enjoy the poem!

 

"Carmen Ante Domum"

(Song Before Home)

 By Rachel Heffington

Home is just over the next green hill

And my journey's last mile before me still--

Home before, and the road behind,

And a balancing moment within my mind...

Home, 'tis so pleasant to know the place

Remembers me still with its homely face.

Home, with her orchards and fields and her lane

Beckoning me with her smiles again.

But the Road, gypsy-mile'd and wild and free,

With echoes and wind-voices calls out to me:

"Remember the paths we have tread, you and I;

The lure of unknown and a clear, open sky!"

Pausing, I stand with the Road at my back,

And stretching before me the dear, homeward track.

A kiss to the journey, a laugh to the wind,

And onward, my heart full of wistfulness send.