Over come with awe at the beauty of my nearly back-yard scenery, my fingers, wrapped in the soft confines of knit gloves, fumbled for my phone so I could snap a picture of such beauty.
Of the loveliness of winter weeds in the soft, glowing sunlight. I've lived in the Midwest my entire life.
I've spent 27 winters trapped in between endless seas of golden tasseled grasses tossing in the frigid Arctic winds, with only spotty sunshine warming the dormant prairie landscape.
And of those 27 winters, I've spent 20 of them wishing I were instead standing on the edge of an actual sea, drinking in the blues and turquoise and jades of water beneath miles of sunshine, praying instead to feast my eyes of the cool tones of ocean and white sand.
This was the first time I've ever noticed the brilliance of the coppers and auburns and hazels that warm the landscape during the dragging days of winter here in Chicagoland.
And I thought to myself, as we drove the last two blocks home, when did this become beautiful?
And what other loveliness has fleeted before my eyes while I've been longing for the beach?
My thoughts were quickly abandoned after we entered the house, and I began the rat race of shuffling E upstairs for a post-lunch nap.
After wrestling my over-tired toddler down to sleep, I quietly exited his room only to bump right into the rear end of a preschooler who was crouched on the floor behind the living room chair.
"EEEEEEEEKKKK!" G screeched and jumped up, completely startled.
Before I could shush him and reprimand him for yelling while his brother was napping because, um, hello, wasn't he old enough to know better, G exclaimed, "Mommy, I was trying to hunt for alligators, and I thought YOU were an alligator coming to get me!"
And that moment? It, too, became beautiful once I stopped wishing for the ocean and instead soaked up the sunshine that is 3 years old.
{These pictures are captures of that very stretch but they were so totally NOT taken with my iPhone. I went back and shot them with my Cannon.}
Every Thursday, we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment. Won't you share life with us? To read more and link your own moment, visit Melissa this week.
