It’s a beautiful morning.
The little green spikes of tulips are peeking up in the front garden and it’s pretty warm, although I still need a sweater to fend off the mountain breeze. I really don’t think I would be doing this otherwise, but it’s the last week of school and I don’t have as much to do. I’m quite boring and non-spontaneous when there’s schoolwork to do. The wind messes with my hair. Dad grabs one of the boy’s longboards and rides down the road… a rousing demonstration.
I swing my leg over the seat and take off down the road, along with mom and the boys, all riding bikes and longboards, respectively. My skirt and sweater and hair flutter behind me. I imagine that looks rather funny, me flying haphazardly down the path. Jonathan grabs my handlebars and has me pull him along while he does absolutely nothing. Figures. There are little, white-capped waves dancing over the lake today.
We arrive at the library, a little out of breath, and scatter- each to our own devices. I, for one, make a beeline for the fireplace and the overstuffed chair. There’s a big window right there that overlooks the main street. The season hasn’t hit yet, otherwise I would be looking out on a sea of shopping tourists, all looking for the perfect souvenir t-shirt. But all I see now are a few people moseying around and cars drive by at intervals.
Reading Chance to Die by Elizabeth Eliot. Sorry, for a while there I was in India, I guess! The story of Amy Carmichael is really amazing. I think anyone who is willing to live what they believe will make history. I also think people are really interesting, and it’s fun to watch them while you pretend to be reading. Note to self: I really should get a Starbucks and some yummy pastry for breakfast sometime and come here to read and sip.
Ok, gotta go.
I just love springtime. That bush there has cute, little, white flowers on it! Luke’s the one to hitch a ride this time. It’s a lot easier to ride a bike without an extra eighty lbs. holding on to your handlebars. The mountains look rather imposing because some dark clouds are sweeping up from behind and around their sides. But the sun is still shining brightly on the snow in the glacier fields and blinding my eyes. It’s almost like it’s a painting that someone propped up behind the little, pine covered hills; it doesn’t look real. If I hadn’t been on top of that peak last summer I guess there would be no way for me to prove that it wasn’t just a movie prop. But I have.
The grey clouds are gathering. I know that a storm is coming because of that sharp, icy wind cutting through the warm air. The willows stand stock still and then bend over in writhing contortions with each fresh gust. A herd of elk raise their heads and scramble out of the way as I pedal up a hill. The hooves echo on the concrete sidewalk. We beat the rain home. Well, I guess there’s no reason why it has to be rain. It could be snow. It snowed last Thursday. A lot.
Ah, but this time it’s rain. I love rain! Lightning just hit the mountain. We’re all in the living room and look out the window. We have to bring my dog inside because he doesn’t like the thunder. He barks at it and looks at the sky with concern. When he’s in the house he runs back and forth and jumps up on the windowsill to look outside.
Rainy days like this make me happy. I’m not sure why. Most people like sunny days, and I do too, but nothing is quite like a rainstorm, when the water splashes the ground in a million places a second, and water-trails run down the windows. The worms all come out. The leaves tremble as they get hit with little water missals. The colors of the world look darker, and deeper, and all the dust is washed away. I like to take walks in it.
So anyway, I guess the point of all this is “Welcome to my little town in the mountains”
