Life under this sky

We are a people of the sunset these days.

The sun has been setting just at the time that I leave work and make my way to the daycare to claim the little people. Every single evening, no matter what the weather has been, the sky is anywhere from softly lovely to breathtaking.

It's a sight for my sore office eyes. I think I have mentioned before that I have no window in my office?

We are adjusting to a routine which is growing less and less flexible as we approach the start of classes. We are less spontaneous, but we are perhaps more in the moment and contented.

Still, we've had a few opportunities to go off course and seize a moment. I grabbed the kids last week and ran out of the house "without a pocket handkerchief" if you understand, to enjoy a sunset that was illuminating half the sky.

From my window.

We danced under the orange sky for a while. The kids practiced rolling down a little hill. Adele surprised me by being a very skillful roller on her first try.

They are excellent at play. I'm so grateful for their example.

I like being an outdoor creature under a sky that glows.

I am, of course, back at work as of January 2. It has been office time, but the students are beginning to flow back into town. There is a stirring on campus. Tuesday is the first day of Spring Semester, 2014.

Spring has nothing to do with these skies, though.

I am back in yoga and some times there isn't a child shouting or clambering into my lap during staff pose or using my downward dog pose as a bridge to crawl under, sometimes I can meditate. Rodney Yee reminds me to feel the earth's energy beneath and I remember that on this same planet, the ocean is beating steadily and plants are germinating and tectonic plates are shifting slightly. On the other side of this planet, it is high summer. People are having the best and worst days of their lives. They are working the day shift, the night shift, and enjoying the twilight rest. It is hard to imagine how so many experiences go on simultaneously. But the planet supports them all. Somehow, this is a soothing thought. Whatever the day hold, the earth will support it. And it will not cease to turn and the seasons will not cease to change.

Slowly.

The solar panels at Virginia Tech straining to catch winter rays.

Sometimes I come home and it's all I can do to observe the routine.

Other nights... I am on a mission to dance. We like to turn on Ray Charles and Stevie Wonder and others that Jon can tell about more than I can, and do what feels right.

Miles invented the Wild Moose last week. Look for it in a club near you!

After the Polar Vortex had released us from its grip, we got outside a bit more. Sunday was sunny and in the 50s, more of a classic Southern Winter experience.

The kids didn't even wear overcoats to the playground.

There is a caboose at this playground, to the delight of all Blacksburg children.

We have yet had no snow to speak of. Nothing that's stuck. Miles and I saw sleds at Kroger the other day and he wanted to buy one. I spoke distractedly: "I don't think we'd better. If we buy one, it probably won't snow." He was confused. "...Mummy, we can still buy a sled even if it's not snowing." He is too much of a child to be superstitious. Or cynical.

Burruss Hall.

I am going to be seeing a lot more of the drillfield this semester. I'll have to cross it four times a week in the mornings. I'm anticipating a fairly full schedule this semester. Still, now that I've seen the syllabus for my class and paced out the route I'll take, I'm feeling more battle-ready. I know it will be full. I also know I can do it.

Frost on the drillfield. Gone by mid-day.

In the evenings on office days, this has often been my first glimpse of the outdoors since 8am. Seven times a day the bells in Burruss Hall (see above) ring out music. Sometimes I can't identify it. Sometimes it's classical tunes; other times, it's the Beatles. No matter what, it seems to come from everywhere. In the crisp winter air it sounds like the music of the spheres.

We're off to get the kids. Don't worry; I wasn't driving this day.

We say, "Help, Thanks, Wow" prayers each night, Miles & I. Usually, we finish with some version of, "Wow, God. The sky was so beautiful today!" It's extravagant of God to paint one of a kind masterpieces in the sky, at every moment, art that changes constantly and disappears in time.

Every single moment. Every single day. The sky is different. I close with a word from brother G. K. Chesterton:

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, "Do it again" to the sun; and every evening, "Do it again" to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

(From Orthodoxy )