A Quiet Place

I often look back with gratitude at the time I spent in Geneva.  It was there that I developed an appreciation for good food, long kisses goodnight, and the zen of walking home at the end of the day.  It was the highlight of my day to stroll the city streets before finding my way home.  I still go out for evening walks all these years later.  Not everyday, but as often as I can manage.  I never fail to see something beautiful or learn something interesting about the woods and hills that I've made my home.  Yesterday on my walk I spotted this quiet place.  

It's been here forever; I've passed it every time, but today I saw it with fresh eyes.  The gold of the grass topped with palest purple.  The fuzzy green plants surrounding it making so soft and the deep blue of the mountains peeking through on the horizon.  The leaves are just beginning to change, dotting the gold and green with orange and red, hinting at the autumn to come.

Alone with my thoughts and the breeze in this endless field of potential and possibility not just for the season but for me as well.  In these moments, lost in my ambling revelry, there is hope again, the possibility for brightness in a future that is perhaps not too far off.  I have to turn and wander home again as the sun begins to set, but the memory of that hope lingers on a while.

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