Date: 2013-09-22
To: My Soul
Miles today: 0.0

It's that time of year again - Fall. It seems to me as though fall is God's way of romancing the soul. Spring is all about rebirth and the miracles within. Summer is warm (to say the least) and all about fun - long, summer days spent waterside that end with twilight games and catching lightning bugs or sticking empty cicada shells on an unsuspecting victim. And then the fall breezes kick in and my soul peeks her little head up, blissfully glances around, and lets out a contented sigh. I'll take 6 more months of this, please.I've grown to truly appreciate the vast flatness of Mississippi, especially on days like today when my soul wants to roam. I can keep an eye on her as she dances in and out of trees in the distance. Sunset grabs my attention here despite that, from my house, it gets hard to see the actual impressive sunset. Sometimes our whole yard gets lit up in a fiery red light that makes me want to grab the girls and go outside and dance in the not-quite-cold-but-not-exactly-warm-either breezes. We laugh and splash in puddles and the dogs run around, and I can't help but feel like I've just been given a glimpse of heaven.The only problem with allowing my soul to roam is that sometimes she gets sneaky. Sometimes, in between changing a diaper and cleaning up an entire bottle of red nail polish Scarlett spilled everywhere, she makes a run for it. I'll search for her, I'll scan trees, I'll pause to listen to a pileated woodpecker and then I'll realize she's off again - that crazy soul of mine has run for the hills. She's strapped everything she needs to make it alone in the woods to her back and she has climbed a mountain and has become lost even to herself. A gentle breeze moves her hair around her face and her eyes are fixed on a breath-taking view of endless mountains, endless possibilities. I let her roam because I hope she'll bring me back to this view. She knows it, and I know it. The poplar leaves are turning yellow and the rest of the leaves won't be far behind. The chill of the air is just cold enough to let her know she's still alive. A few more miles of twilight hiking will bring her to a familiar ground where she can set up camp and warm herself by a nice fire before drifting off to the most peaceful sleep she's known as a grown woman. My soul feels rejuvenated at this simple, carefree life where all her needs are met without a single worry on her part. The familiar clanking of hiking poles set a rhythm of both hard work as she moves farther up a mountain and an easily intimate conversation with a long lost hiking buddy. She hasn't kept in great touch with this friend but she finds herself sharing some of her most private thoughts anyway. Another great beauty of communing in the mountains is this very thing - the freedom of sharing herself with someone who, by conventional standards, she doesn't really know all that well. Those mountains tend to bring that out - easy familiarity with strangers. It's as though in connecting to the beauty that surround them, the two souls find themselves connected as well. This is the kind of intimacy that I strive for back in the flat woods. I work hard for it but the daily requirements of dishes, errands, laundry, to do lists, etc sometimes distract and stifle soulful connections. The two keep moving up the mountain until they reach a ridge line and then the pace picks up. Impressed with their own strength and endurance the two souls push themselves, see how hard they can go. Nearby, a bird lands on the ground and then, startled, quickly flies back up to a branch. A squirrel, distracted by a nearby foe, flies through the air in the branches above ready for a chattery and quick-paced battle over territory. Freshly fallen leaves crunch at their feet, and the souls become silent, lulled by the familiar rhythm and enchanted by life continuing on around them. Breathless they arrive at their campsite a few minutes later and settle in for the evening. My soul decides that she's feeling especially brave on this fall evening and cowboy camps alone. She lays back, snuggled warmly in her sleeping bag with her head propped up on a stuff sack full of dirty but plush clothes, and she stares up at the sky. The stars shine down on her and she shines back at them.