My daughters start a fire in the rock pit in our yard at the end of a sunny day, a day of hiking and laughter, of putting away a gorgeous onion harvest, of weeding and transplanting daisies from a friend, of painting the lower barn door blue (please, mom, why not just white?)
There’s no one else, no visitors, no company stopping by, just the three of us cooking outside sprawling on the grass as the dusk gradually filters down and pulls out the brilliance of pink zinnias, a tangle of nasturtiums, gold in a maple in the cemetery. We’ve nowhere else to go but into the house and sleep.
My older daughter shares a conversation she had with her coworkers that night, about the probably of God, of ghosts, of UFOs, and the girls dive into what they’ve read about Roswell.
Under my bare feet, the grass holds the day’s warm sunlight yet. Listening, I remember the barren patches in this grass when we moved in. The grass is lush now, like a well-tended cat’s fur.
My younger daughter, with a new kind of adolescent edginess, announces her own nihilism. I offer, But here’s the rub there: what about life? What about you? and then I wise up and shut up. A few tendrils of mist settle into the valley below us. In the night, rain will move in, but for now, it’s just us and the sunlight, and all that evening ahead.
7 thoughts on “God, Ghosts, Aliens”
I love your writing. It’s a daily gift.
Thank you so much, Pam. It’s a pleasure to know my words have reached a woman in a very distant city, so far from rural Vermont.
This is an especially lovely post, Brett. And I love the bazillion wonderful things you do and share with your girls!! Also, congrats on your recent grant.
Always a pleasure to hear from you, Margie. Thank you, on this rainy Monday morning. The grant was a great piece of luck, and I’m incredibly grateful for it. Hope all is well with you.
Don’t sell yourself short on the grant Brett! Remember that good luck often lies at the intersection of opportunity and preparedness. GT
I have a blue barn door too. And knowing when to be quiet while the kids chatter. Always a call I can make too late. “You gotta know when to hold ’em,” as the song goes.
Goodness! I hadn’t thought of that song in ages. Thanks for reminding me on this overcast September morning. Hope all is well with you!