Ever wonder why writers always seem a little distracted? Disconnected? Like they are on another planet? With a strange vocabulary and an odd twist on the mundane? It's because we're writers. Through a Writer's Eyes will help you see what we see and how we see and why we say what we do. Feel free to join the conversation. Let me know how you see what I see. Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey!
Monday, October 22, 2012
The following piece from A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges is one of my all-time favorites. The memory of the smiles on my grandbabies' faces, the glowing tree we played beneath, the warm sun and the crisp air alternating dominance. Mmm. Yes, I do like autumn.
change of seasons is one of those things that catch writers by surprise. We
always notice it and it always is new to our senses.
I noticed autumn the other day. I
was taking a walk with my grandbabies in the sunshine. Anna was properly
holding to the side of the stroller which contained her two brothers. We were
chatting about motorcycles and trucks as they passed us by. A luscious,
Saturday stroll casually going from here to there when all of a sudden we were
confronted by a carpet of golden sunshine.
Of course, I am a grandmother so I
do my best to maintain proper decorum at all times as is becoming a lady of my
age. (You can laugh out loud here. That’s allowable.)So, when I saw the leaves I did what any
Bapka of my stature would do. I stopped. Pointed. Shouted!“How fun is that!”
Well, those well-behaved
grandchildren of mine didn’t know what I was talking about. They looked up to
see if it was a bird or a cloud or a star. All of which I have been known to
call to their attention. They looked down the street to see if a car or horse
or being of distinction were coming toward us. Then they looked at me in
confusion as if to say, “what now?”
I smiled coyly and stooped to pick
up a HUGE ARMFUL of golden drops of sunshine. Laughing as I did so, I threw
them like snowflakes over the three astonished children.
“Let me out of here!”Mavrik shouted with joy as he pushed his way
out of the stroller. He is always the first one to guess Bapka’s games. (It
started with blocks and Godzilla, but that’s another story.)
Anna squealed and joined the melee. Before
long, a storm of golden maple leaves clouded the air and almost covered Arthur
whose giggle could be heard above the noise.
We played as long as we wanted then we
Funny how we never found quite
another likely pile of leaves to play in. There were other piles of fallen
leaves, but not quite the same. Not as soft or bright or tantalizing.
Autumn is not my favorite time of
year. There are many shadows that pull at my heart in autumn.
And yet . . . who can resist the
smiles that overwhelm the shadows?I
visited New York first in autumn. My sister and I bridged many, many years on
those October walks in the City. First days of school, of course, are part of
autumn. Teaching and learning are two of my favorite things. St. Catherine
University is a splendid place in autumn.
Autumn is also the time of year when
God gave us Arthur back.
Autumn. Smiles. Golden drops of
promise. Yes. I do rather like autumn after all.
To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges
or a Friend Named Jesus,