New schedules this week. E is back to school now, and she starts so early. F is back with grandparents for the week, so she’s probably sleeping in each day. That means I’m up early – to run or drive to school or just generally make sure E’s up and at ’em, but then I find myself with a lot of quiet time between that activity and work. It’s nice.
I planned to get up and run this morning, but we stayed up too late last night together, and it was supposed to rain, so I shifted my schedule to run after work and I got a little more sleep. But when I woke up it was so lovely outside, and I felt a little pang of disappointment at missing my chance. I don’t get that feeling a lot so I sat with it for a minute before shifting my thoughts. Sometimes I get pretty rigid in how the schedule of a day is going to play out, and I needed to remind myself that I can be flexible in the ordering, and the act of flexibility doesn’t represent the loss of opportunity.
I think part of that disappointment is tied to this transition point, even when the transition feels gradual. We didn’t move from a schedule of summer leisure to one of school scrambling – there’s not a huge difference in how our weeks look, except that the kids stay in one place instead of jumping from camp to camp each week. But it’s still a different schedule, and the days are getting noticeably shorter – by minutes a day, but it’s still there. Yesterday was so rainy and wet that it felt like the sun was never going to come up. So I know that when F returns, my morning runs during the week are a thing of the past – at least until next summer. So there is some sadness there as there always is in the shifting. Maybe there’s some melancholy hiding there from the recent birthdays – older years and new grades at school. Time keeps moving on, and it’s not a slow pace.
Most of these photos are from the garden this past Saturday. It was warm and humid, even at seven in the morning.
I didn’t intend to take so many photos, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s second nature to me now, when I’m there. Yesterday morning, after dropping E off at school, I had a few hours to myself before work. It was pouring rain, but I knew that I still wanted to walk. I headed to one of our favorite breakfast places, and they asked where the kids were. Just me this morning, and a book. I ate and drank coffee and read a few chapters, then headed back out in the heavier rain.
It poured for the entire walk, but I still tucked my camera in the crook of my arm and kept my umbrella close. I walked the entire garden, and took about fifteen total shots, but only three or so were halfway decent. I mostly just listened to the sound of the water hitting my umbrella and waited to see if I would pass anyone else but I didn’t. The place was mine, and I wandered for another hour there.
When I talked to F on the phone last night, she wanted to know all the details of my day, so I told her. I described the quiet of my morning, what I ordered for breakfast, how empty the paths were, how wet my shoes were, even after sitting by my desk for the entire workday. I told her it was a treat to walk in a rainy garden, and worth the dampness. I told her I missed her yellow umbrella bobbing along in front of me – I kept looking for it, expecting to see it there. I’m looking forward to her return, a different kind of quiet in the garden, the darker mornings, slow to rouse, the shift of colors and sky and breeze.
