Moving through the darkness we feel along the familiarities of the house—a temporary home we’ve just recently come to know.
”We’re going to see the sunrise, mom” my son’s voice breathed with the wind’s breath, an ever present spirit in the house, “wanna go?”
We are on an island in Australia—my daughter, my son, my self. A respite in the midst of a visit full of motion. To whatever God who breathed the idea of a full stop in the middle of this trip, I am grateful. We are on pause in the most abundant of places. After hopping from one destination to the next, we. are. here. now. We move in ones and twos and threes on small adventures. We linger. We stare off into the distance. Together. The breeze, a presence in itself, washes over us, moves among us, carrying exotic bird calls and scents of flowers we’ve yet to meet. We can always hear the waves.
This island retreat is a jewel in a treasure chest that is this trip. An atlas of images and flavors and colors illustrating the greatest gift—time together. The gift is not lost on me.
“Look, a turtle,” Maddie whispers. All three of us turn as a head, then a flipper appears. We sit on a broad swing on the beach watching each little movement—a fish, a gull, the shifting sky colors mirrored in the waves. Shells and coral are scattered around our feet from the tide. We are in the treasure chest. The sky’s blush deepens as the sun prepares her entrance. And then, light. Glorious red against the purple grey shapes of islands. We say nothing.
The sun will rise and set. The moon will wax and wane. The earth’s patterns will continue around us. We are here reminding ourselves of those things that endure.