Saturday, November 28, 2009

The wind

Tonight the wind blows cold and hard from the northeast, coming off the lake with a roar in the trees, and it rattles the house in the country. It's a though nature has decided to let us know that change is afoot, and that the thin sunlight and gentle approaches to a new season are over - there's a real feeling of change in the air, almost an exclamation that winter is coming whether we're ready or not. There's a bright half-moon tonight, alternately casting stark shadows of the bare trees then disappearing behind wind-driven clouds, then lighting the night again - a scene I wish to wake Dear Alex to come out and see, to feel that quiet awe of the big wide world around us.
It puts me in mind of trips in the car from the city to the country, with Dear Alex awake and talking about the moon, the moon chasing us down the night, and calling out "the moon, daddy, the moon" and her delight with the peek-a-boo passing through the trees and over the hills. Tonight Dear Alex sleeps soundly in her big girl bed surrounded by her bunnies and the deep and sure knowledge of the love of mommy and daddy. She pointed out the moon to us last evening "a half-moon! in the daylight!" as we headed out to Brooklyn for our annual Thanksgiving dinner with aunts and uncles and family, then again later in the night as we left the city, tired and full and happy. We drove from the city and the lights and highways to the narrow two-lane country roads and into fog, an amazing and surprising fog so dense that it actually made me slow down, and take a little more care to get us safely home in the quiet and dripping dark. I will never tire of the routine of arrival - the sudden stillness of turning off the car then the flurry of activity, then quiet as I pick Dear Alex out of her car seat, wrap a blanket around her and carry her up the stairs and into the house and up more stairs to finally plop her unceremoniously into bed, usually with a nuzzle and a little tighter hug. Goodnight sweet girl.