It's been a pretty lazy Sunday, just curled up in my room, sleeping, watching Once Upon a Time, looking over some organic chemistry things that I probably won't remember tomorrow, and relaxing my muscles into happiness. It's a rather good thing that tomorrow is Martin Luther King Day because I don't think I could do school tomorrow (even though it has only been one week!). This shopping period has been especially hard on me and I need to just collect myself and think for a while.
Daily Theme 3:
Describe a sacred place. It need not be, although it can be, a place designed sacred by custom and purpose, and you may or may not view it as sacred yourself.
The Cracks on the Wall
It's been a long time since I visited, but as I push through the low branches and clamber without my usual grace over the fallen tree stumps, the smell of green rushes over me and tickles the old memories that I have somehow allowed myself to bury in the back of my mind. A few rays of sunlight peek through the clouds; the wet leaves beneath my feet squish and squelch as I finally make it to our wall.
It probably used to be a shed or a church or something but now, it's just a lone stone wall in a clearing, the last one that has stood strong over the years. Back in 2008, the last time Andrew and I visited, we carved our names in the wall in a little corner so that if anyone else found this spot, they would know that we had found it first. But that was three years ago. Times have changed. The rain and wind has worn down our meager efforts and a few vines have grown along the bottom of the wall, their leaves almost obscuring Andy's name.
I run my fingers over the smooth stone and touch my forehead to the cool rock. I remember the first time we stumbled upon the clearing, during one of our hikes off the beaten path. I remember how we had come here whenever we needed to get away from school or jobs or family. I remember our picnics; we would sit, just sit, letting the sounds of the forest flow over us. It was so peaceful, so different than anything in the city. And soon, we would be leaving it all behind.
"Look, Clara. Isn't it beautiful?"
I turned to see Andy with our daughter strapped to his front. She's burbling like she always is when she's being bounced around, and kicks her tiny baby feet in delight.
"See where Mommy is? That's where I kissed her for the first time. And where I told her I loved her. And where I asked her to marry me. And where we decided to move to a bigger place since you're not always going to be so portable. But don't worry, one day, when you're old enough, we'll bring you back here and you can carve your name into the wall next to ours. Though if you bring any boys 'round this way, I'll probably have to beat them up."
I smile and take Clara, kneeling next to the wall where our names are still visible. She giggles and tugs at my hair and I take her hand in mine. We trace the names together. Andy + Meg. And Clara.
Daily Theme 3:
Describe a sacred place. It need not be, although it can be, a place designed sacred by custom and purpose, and you may or may not view it as sacred yourself.
The Cracks on the Wall
It's been a long time since I visited, but as I push through the low branches and clamber without my usual grace over the fallen tree stumps, the smell of green rushes over me and tickles the old memories that I have somehow allowed myself to bury in the back of my mind. A few rays of sunlight peek through the clouds; the wet leaves beneath my feet squish and squelch as I finally make it to our wall.
It probably used to be a shed or a church or something but now, it's just a lone stone wall in a clearing, the last one that has stood strong over the years. Back in 2008, the last time Andrew and I visited, we carved our names in the wall in a little corner so that if anyone else found this spot, they would know that we had found it first. But that was three years ago. Times have changed. The rain and wind has worn down our meager efforts and a few vines have grown along the bottom of the wall, their leaves almost obscuring Andy's name.
I run my fingers over the smooth stone and touch my forehead to the cool rock. I remember the first time we stumbled upon the clearing, during one of our hikes off the beaten path. I remember how we had come here whenever we needed to get away from school or jobs or family. I remember our picnics; we would sit, just sit, letting the sounds of the forest flow over us. It was so peaceful, so different than anything in the city. And soon, we would be leaving it all behind.
"Look, Clara. Isn't it beautiful?"
I turned to see Andy with our daughter strapped to his front. She's burbling like she always is when she's being bounced around, and kicks her tiny baby feet in delight.
"See where Mommy is? That's where I kissed her for the first time. And where I told her I loved her. And where I asked her to marry me. And where we decided to move to a bigger place since you're not always going to be so portable. But don't worry, one day, when you're old enough, we'll bring you back here and you can carve your name into the wall next to ours. Though if you bring any boys 'round this way, I'll probably have to beat them up."
I smile and take Clara, kneeling next to the wall where our names are still visible. She giggles and tugs at my hair and I take her hand in mine. We trace the names together. Andy + Meg. And Clara.
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