"[I was reminded] of something I saw early one morning a few years ago, as I was walking up to the church. There was a young couple strolling along half a block a head of me. The sun had come up brilliantly after a heavy rain and the trees were glistening and very wet. On some impulse, plain exuberance, I suppose, the fellow jumped up and caught hold of a branch, and a storm of luminous water came pouring down on the two of them and they laughed and took off running, the girl sweeping water off her hair and her dress as if she were a little bit disgusted but she wasn't. It was a beautiful thing to see, like something from a myth. I don't know why I thought of that now, except perhaps because it is easy to believe in such moments that water was made primarily for blessing, and only secondarily for growing vegetables and doing the wash. I wish I had paid more attention to it. My list of regrets may seem unusual, but who can know that they are, really. This is an interesting planet. It deserves all the attention you can give it."
- Marilynne Robinson, Gilead
I have been listening to Josh Garrels new album, Home, on repeat this week. Trying my best to pay as much attention as I can to the rapidly increasing light. Dinner is pushed till later, 7:30 or 8:00, as we attempt to suss out as much time together as we can. Next week my mother and brother will join us as they did last year, and for the next three months our house will feel very full. Of course, we are thrilled and excited for the visit. But even so, we are treasuring these long June days alone in the evenings. Even if all we do is sit side-by-side, quietly watching shadows lengthen and light fade.