A Little Flourish

It's been an exhausting week, dear ones, an exhausting week. So I came here to write, to once again find myself in these pages, with you, my readers.

It's late fall in New York, the beauty of letting go, has swirled and twirled through windy pathways and reached the dying target of earth. The dry, brown leaves can be smelled and heard crunching underfoot. The mornings give forth the perfect combination of cold temperatures and warm, sweet coffee. Darkness can be seen more than light, or so it seems. It is in this season that candles, scarves, soft white twinkle lights on the mantle, and blankets provide a warm, safe place to harbor. Worry not about what happens out there, dear ones, in this environment, with me, you are safe, you are loved, and we are having a quiet, comfortable conversation as old friends.

Old friends share hopes, dreams, plans, and memories.

Take a walk with me. Toward the past. Toward another season.

It's a quiet, summer night. Humidity coats the air, and the breeze does not cool the brow. I'm sitting on the edge of a grey porch, staring at a sky full of stars, swatting mercilessly at mosquitoes. It would be just perfect without the mosquitoes, but, alas, mosquitoes will always be with us. My aunt sits next to me, we are in our nightgowns, outside, which feels scandalous and somewhat delicious. She shares her mug of tea with me. I'm very excited to have what surely is a grown up beverage, and so close to bedtime. The tea, in later years, will come to define me. Plain black tea, hot, sweetened, with a swirl of milk. Perfection. Please offer it to me anytime. She is so mild and meek, my aunt. She speaks with a softness to which I am unaccustomed. I live with firmer tones and directives. She is so genuinely pleased to be in my company. MY company. I can't be more than ten. The night is closing in around us and the moon is bright in the Ohio heavens. Her words come to me, even now, across decades of time. "Angela, slow down, take your time, be gentle and graceful, a lady is always full of grace."

Grace. Gentleness. Meekness.

I remember my aunt so fondly. In my memory, these qualities defined her. I want to sit on the porch and give sage wisdom. I long to be graceful, gentle, meek. In a world full of agressive, racy, entitled, attention seekers, I want to walk quietly. I want to be a lady that my aunt would have been proud of. Classic. Poised.

It's difficult. Today. To be those things. It's difficult to be a quiet influence, because the noise of life is drowning, and the world is weighted.

As we sit in quiet comfort, with old friends, it seems possible, for a moment, that we can do anything. Our dreams are within reach. Our memories are only golden. Our tea is always made perfectly.

Late fall is magical. It's warm. It's comforting. For just this minute, I might be exactly what my aunt had hoped I would be. Gentle and graceful.

But with a hint of spiciness that gives the story of my life a little flourish.