Time is slipping away. Soon we will be packing up our summer threads and loading the car for the trip south. Melancholy has begun to sneak in the back door. It isn't that I don't like Florida. I love palm trees and walks on the beach. I especially love our time with friends and neighbors who make me laugh and share of themselves so graciously.
But my heart? My heart is here, on the lake shore in this land of my childhood. The land where the dandelions grow. It is embedded in the perfectly imperfect walls of Little Red and along the 1/2 mile lane I walk on an almost daily basis. It can be found on an early morning paddle and around a fire pit on a cool fall evening.
I see it in the subtle shades of pinks and purples that hug the lake and whisper sweet nothings long after the sun has set. It runs with the white tails that sneak across the clearing behind the barn on their way to wherever the spirit leads them. It embraces the bright greens of early spring and the fading yellow and golds that tell me summer is gone.
In due time I will pack my bags and fly south with the birds. I will enjoy the warmth of the southern sun on my face and the sight of swaying palms. But my heart? It will remain here, at Little Red, and patiently wait for my return.