The last golden sunset light sifted away into the shadows a few minutes ago, and now there is left a sort of  stillness, grey but cloaked in dusky shades of blue and rose, haunting the hilltop. Inside, lights are sparking on, and the last words of Chris Rice's album What a Heart is Beating For have died away--I guess it's time to turn on something else now. The dishwasher is humming steadily away, furniture is being moved around upstairs, an occasional footfall sounds along the hallway, and a solitary baker remains in the kitchen, stirring a passion fruit filling till it is something more substantial than its current watery state. I hear a murmur of friendly voices and soak in the light laughter of my family as I sit coiled up on the couch.
The greater portion of today was spent at Costco, heaving large quantities of various food items from shelves into shopping carts, from shopping carts to counters, from counters to carts, and finally from carts to car. Oh, and then there is always from the car to the garage fridge. I had no idea that a wedding could require so much food, but apparently it does, and it will be a beautiful wedding! All of the clothes are here, complete with several sets of darling, lace-covered ballet flats, the food is here, programs have been created, a place is  acquired, and all is in preparation for my sister and brother-in-law-to-be's wedding. I haven't the slightest idea how I will feel when I see that cloud of short, dark hair wreathed by a gauzy veil, or what I'll be thinking when I walk down the grassy hill (hopefully with sunshine on my shoulders) but I feel that whatever my emotions are, they will be extremely profound. Maybe not, though. Maybe I'll just be hoping that I'm smiling the right way and that my hair is still in order. For now, I'm content in the knowledge that it will be a superb wedding ceremony, followed by a lovely reception.
How will I ever wait for Sunday to arrive?

The list goes on

There are too many favorite things to compile into a list of fourty, so just remember, as you read, that the list extends far, far longer than I could probably ever write down. My closest friends are:

 

1. A green, purple and white field at sunset

2. The music halls at WOU

3. My family laughing around the dinner table

4. Remembering family reunions

5. Walking in the rain with my Dad

6. Climbing to the top of a maple tree

7. Picnics with chocolate, sparkling cider and cucumber cream cheese sandwiches

8. L.M. Montgomery, Louisa May Alcott, Edwin Way Teale, Elizabeth Goudge, God (authors of all my favorite books)

9. Realizing that my family is a choir 

10. Swimming in St. Mary's River

11. Playing piano by lamplight

12. Folding laundry

13. Slicing watermelon

14. Asking Mama questions about cooking

15. Talking to my little brother

16. Reading aloud

17. Writing and receiving letters

18. Touching soft cloth

19. The moon

20. Talking to my sister till midnight

21. Candlelight dinners

23. Beautiful dessert

24. Worship in music

25. A small cabin in the woods

26. Maple leaves with  afternoon light shining through them.

27. Embroidering

28. Going on adventures with Chesterton

29. Roses and daffodils

30. Reading the Bible while drinking a cup of tea and watching the sunrise

31.Family conversations

32. Kindred spirits

33. Fir trees

34. Planting a garden

35. Running

36. Writing poems

37. Mud boots

38. French bread and cheese at the beach

39. Watching the sunset from my hill

40. Quiet moments to think about how good life is

How I could I ever survive without just a little bit of beauty?

Memory

It's sunny again; the hills are glowing and green, salted with daisies and touched by purple wild flowers. Some small, singing creature is buzzing and chirping among the tall grasses, and the nostalgic humming unfolds layers of June memories in the warm air. The pluming mauve frond at the head of each meadow grass stem is like a long sunset cloud, rippling with the wind and glistening under the light of a golden sun--how many sunsets have I watched out here again? The giant bushes of scotch broom are a lacework of clustered yellow blossoms and dark green threads weaving webs. They foreshadow each year's firework display over the river, and the tiny, bright dandelions close to the ground are their reflections. We look out the big front window in the morning to see how the dew-drenched scotch broom profusion has grown, but we watch the fireworks bloom and  fade  in a single hour of summertime wonder. The fir trees are bending and blowing with each gust of cool spring wind, almost exactly the way they did on that first afternoon when we came here to look at the property, but a big house has sprung up at the top of the hill, and the road is no longer a strip of gravel, but a real paved driveway. Still, though, there are lots of things that haven't changed, and maybe they never will. Things like the shiny green oak leaves, the moss crusting the path back through the woods, and the small scars we gave the  Climbing Tree when we were building forts with the lowest branches. I look at these, and listen to the crickets and the robins, and feel that the sunshine is back again.