Sky imitates ocean.

After the grayest of mornings, 

the winds blew through the clouds 

and gave back the gift of sun.

Happy (almost) Thanksgiving.

Maple on parking lot stripe

October and rain go hand in … umbrella.

Around Philadelphia, this is day 5 of drenching, misty rain. 

We are a soggy bunch.

On days like these, I’ve been tempted to hurry from outside to inside, or to avoid the outdoors altogether. Fortunately, the bright side of fall — and our dog — helped me choose differently.

Leaving church on Sunday, I looked out at a falling curtain of rain. I ducked my head, held on to my hood and started walking quickly across the parking lot. Bright flashes of red, orange and yellow slowed my pace. Against the black macadam backdrop, fallen leaves practically shouted, “Look at me!”

I did, and took in a sprawling canvas of scattered leaves. No artist could do better.

Today, during a brief respite from the wet, I walked with our dog past the ancient ginko down the street. I stopped (for a reason all dog people understand), and then spotted a fallen leaf, festooned with raindrops and lit by that clear October light.

Before long the rain began again. It’s coming down even as I type.

October may be soggy, but it’s beautiful.

Ginko on pebbled sidewalk

Ashleaf maple on macadam

Momentary Joy is ... gathering moments.

Seeing sand in September. How lucky can you get?

Just a picture today, 

from one of our (many) recent rainy afternoons.

Not all sidewalk stars come from Hollywood. 

Lawn mowing has its rewards. 

After a hot morning’s mow, I pulled a lounge chair into the shade, stretched out and looked up.
White clouds wandered through a beautiful blue sky, all in a maple-leaf frame. 

A jet punched through the clouds into a patch of blue, and quickly disappeared into the white.
To the right, the jet’s long puffy contrail arced behind. I imagined the plane’s path, and watched the spot where I guessed it would reappear.

Seconds passed. I wondered, briefly, how fast the jet was going, how long it would take to reappear, or if it would stay hidden behind the clouds.
Seconds more later, there it was, darting through a new blue gap, safely traveling on.

It does pay to look up.

—

I haven’t written Momentary Joy in quite some time. As with most writerly gaps, there’s a reason for that.
My mom died back in February. Since then, I’ve been traveling, often wandering, through grief — a path both familiar and yet also new. Mom and Dad are now both gone, and the loss is immeasurable.

I’ve been working on a piece about Mom, and saying goodbye, and I got it stuck in my head that I wouldn’t — couldn’t — write anything else until that was finished. It felt almost disloyal to do it any other way.
I'm blessed with a therapist who helped me see the possibility of another way through, allowing me to let the writing go for awhile and trust what would come — whatever that might be.

Throughout Mom’s final illness, and in all the days that followed, momentary joys gracefully appeared. I noticed them, with gratitude, but I just couldn’t write about them.

Until today, when I looked up and saw that sky, and those clouds, and that jet, and it sent me to my journal, and to my laptop, and here I am, writing again.

I think Mom would be glad.