When I Grow Tired of You? Never, My Love.

Today was a beautiful fall day. So beautiful it thrilled me to be out in it. It had been raining all morning, a fun change to our sunny days from summer. Everyone felt a bit excited at the prospect of using an umbrella, although neither of my girls remembered to grab their jackets before we had left the house for school dropoff. But by afternoon the rain had passed and the clouds remained, with sunshine starting to peak out through the gray. The wind was picking up around the trees and swirling all around me. It was a truly playful breeze, and the rushing roar it was making through the trees' leaves was like the feeling of something wonderful and exciting coming as I journeyed through the damp grass; so I began to run, my boys tucked securely in the jogging stroller with a blanket. I miss this. And having the forced opportunity to walk outside in nature, even if only for a few minutes each day, is a blessing. Being outside, I feel young, even though many would tell me I am still young. Amidst trees, grass, puddles, rain, wind, reminds me of being a very little girl, and I ponder the moments from the many days when I would spend hours in it. The feeling of crawling through the long, succulent field grass, but discerning between the younger, softer grass shoots from the sharp blades of mature grass that could slice you so easily if you touched it at the wrong angle. The finding of spittle bug "cocoons" in the forest of grass and the glossy petals of buttercups in the fields. Of collecting wild clover and "honey suckle" to make nature salads in a walnut shell. Of scouring a patch of clover for minutes on end to find a four-leaf-clover. The small yet mighty force of a grasshopper jumping from my palm. The sweet red polka-dotted ladybugs, the excitement and delight when I would spot my first wooly bear caterpillar of the fall season (and sadly, always so many casualties on the road). The misty fall mornings where spiderwebs were frosted with dew. The small but lush foliage all over the roadside that I would peruse with my eyes as I walked towards the bus stop for school. The stumbling upon whimsical mushroom circles growing in the orchard that I would play nearby and run/dance around other times (no, I didn't eat them- they were simply fascinating). The small creek running along the road that, one year to my youngest sister's chagrin, I tried to save all of the slugs from (only to toss them up onto a hot tin roof later). Discovering the wonders of the natural world, albeit some unfortunately cruel moments, was a wonder and magical. But as I grew older, I went out in it less and less; and those long-past quiet moments became more and more cherished as I became aware of it.

Looking up towards the sky now through the leaves of the trees, seeing those charming acorns all at rest under a large oak settled near the school...it all lightens my heart. Being in nature is like being with the closest and dearest friends and family where I can be myself and relax and ponder. And remember who I am and what my life has been. It's soothing to be around these lives that simply are, and to feel that I can just be too. I actually find so many lessons from nature, and I know that's the way Heavenly Father intended it to be. I connected with nature as a child, and where I feel the comforting divine as an adult. It's a relief to be reunited with something dear. And this is one of those better mornings.

After we pick Lillian up from preschool, we see water pooled deep in the parking lot, the muddy water rippling from the lightened breeze now. I show Peter how an oak leaf floats like a small boat on top of the water, and give him leaves to toss into the nature-made pond. It makes him laugh delightedly. Lillian is throwing handfuls of leaves high up into the air and watching them fall unceremoniously into the lake, over and over again. Then we continue walking over to that great oak tree, where I see a smaller puddle near the curb of the parking lot. "Chocolate factories," I had called those muddy puddles once because of their color (and wishful thinking). So I suggest we pick up a few acorns and toss them into the water, which the kids execute with further delight. The simple things really are what make the most impact in our souls. As we continue through the field back to the van, Lillian starts to run and looks over her shoulder back at me, her eyes twinkling with fun, egging me to catch her. I shout to her that I'm pretty tired, but I start running. Why can't every day, every morning, feel like this one?