Blueberries are coming on, acorns are falling: these subtle markers of the beginning of the end. A time to start counting the weeks until I’m back to the thing thing I’m passionate about. School. I’ve missed the people. It’s not like I’ve been isolated all summer, but there’s something about seeing the same people every day. There’s something delicious about looking forward to another year of unpredictability, and promise.
The signs for the fairs, and parades are starting to go up. Harvest is coming. The corn is well past it’s knee high mark for the fourth. People. I thrive on people. No, no one understands me. No, I don’t have any close friends, but somehow that doesn’t make me love the people any less. I love loving on people. I wish I could freeze frame the moments of sharing laughter, confusion, and anguish for you. I wish I could show you my heart.
It’s been both a long and short summer in many ways, but now I’me just so ready for this sabbatical to end. I’m far from perfect, but this one thing I do well. I gather stories; I love them even if they break my heart. I gather stories, and I pray. Hard. I pray, and I watch God work. It’s funny, I had a dream the other night about one I met last year. One who will not be back again. The dream wasn’t particularly meaningful, but I woke up in a cold sweat with my heart pounding, and I prayed for him with an urgency I’ve missed. An urgency I’ve tried, and failed to maintain.
The blueberries are coming on, the acorns are falling, and I’m wishing away a part of my life until I can walk through those doors again. I don’t know what I’ll do when I can’t go back; it’ll hit me harder than most. Journeys have seasons too you know, and right now the fields are ripe with harvest. And I just can’t wait to get picking.