It also put us in proximity to my sister Barbara (2nd oldest of we four girls; shown here) - the one I often refer to as the Sister-Mom. Throughout my life she has spoken buoyancy into my soul; and all the more since our mother's passing long ago.
Yes, Arizona is officially home now. I realize it's climate is not for everyone. Having just passed through another of it's summers I understand how 110 degree temperatures might be daunting to some.
I'm daunted at times too - in particular on those nights when the thermometer hovers at 85 degrees and the air conditioner (and dollars) run non-stop. On those nights it would seem the sun has never set.
So now that the days have shortrened and the temperatures are gradually descending, I welcome night and the promises it brings. What incredible, limitless promises they are!
When the sun has at last bedded down for the night, I step outside and my skin is awakened to the cool; my heart lights up as though darkness is but a pretender.
It is then that night air reveals the scent of something vague, but gripping nonetheless.
Is it the convincing proof that night has truly fallen? Could it be the promise of those things to come, like sunrise, or pumpkin pie, or the decorating of a Christmas tree? Maybe it's the knowing that I'll soon be able to leave windows open at night, silencing the air conditioning? Or perhaps it's the certainty that children and grandchildren and sisters will be arriving from far away to enjoy the unique beauties of the forever-Spring that rises here in October?
Then again, might it not be the bigger, grander promise that every promise spoken by God will all come to pass ... maybe tonight?
Whatever it is, it is welcome - even if it only arrives at night.
Night, the beloved.
Night, when words fade
and things come alive.
When the destructive analysis
of day is done,
and all that is truly important
becomes whole and sound again.
When man reassembles
his fragmentary self
and grows with the calm of a tree.
Antoine De Saint-Exupery.