Tuesday, 30 September 2014

September is not autumn in this house

The days of summer are over.

Ana's room was very dark tonight, as we lay next to each other on her bed, both of us very silent. She was too tired for the usual bedtime stories she tells me - stories in which her invisible friends follow her on great adventures, stories she tells with animated hands and blue eyes wide open from the wonders she is describing for me. I understand a lot of it in light of what has happened during our day together. A lot of it doesn't make sense except in her not-yet-four-year-old imagination. But I love every sentence of it, the new words she has learnt and is proudly using, the new concepts, fresh understandings of life she has arrived at and can't wait to employ.

Last weekend the four of us climbed some trees, chased some ants and even found time for a coffee in our favourite bookshop. Oh, and the sunshine was good, too.

Today, although the weather was still very mild, I made peace with autumn. It is welcome now. We have soaked the sun into our hair and skin deeply enough for one year.

This week is a busy week of arrivals and departures, pre-school and post-graduate school, children being passed on from parent to parent perhaps a few times too many, fish fingers for dinner more often than I would ideally like.

Life is so full, so rich at the moment. We are all learning, growing. Ana is no longer a toddler and Sacha no longer a baby. Their tender stems are getting stronger every day. Outside, it is autumn, with leaves dropping onto pavements with a hush. In here, it is spring time, a glorious spring awakening of the tiny garden which is the four of us.

I can see the change in my children every day. And because I know that they will grow up, I also know that I will grow old. My autumn will also reach us one day. But for now, the glittering sky is still warm.

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