Until We Come Again

The lights turned off, the window shades drawn, we took one last look around the yard before starting the car. The sky was threatening rain again but we’ll have to wait and see. Ma’s pebble birdhouses still dangled from the front yard oak, the bluebonnets seemed to have grown a foot since our arrival, and the red bird swooped in to say farewell. One lone “moo” called from the distance. It was time. The dirt road crunched beneath the tires on our way to the front gate, and with a heaviness to match the air I swung the gate closed behind us and secured the padlock – its “click” I labeled a semi-colon rather than a period. We look forward to coming back.

The main road was quiet this Sunday morning; I’d like to believe everyone was in church. Depositing our accumulated trash, we pressed toward San Antonio, pausing in Floresville long enough to pick up some barbecue to go. I’ve learned that it pays, around airports, to travel prepared, and south Texas barbecue is almost enough to wish for long delays. Entering San Antonio we located the Guenther House, our predetermined lunch stop (food is becoming an unveiled consistent theme), but finding it overcrowded we ordered our chicken green enchiladas to go, pushed on to the airport and ate our lunch in the gate area. Travelers from all over the world tried to hide their envy. Lori peeled and cut up the last remaining mango and we feasted our dessert before subjecting ourselves to the grand inquisition known as “security screening.” Proof that there is a benevolent God, they didn’t even question our barbecue, only a knick-knack we had bought for a friend.

And now we pull out the books, plug in the iPods, steel ourselves for travel, and wait for the nod. These have been blessing days – the gentle embrace of rest and the braking deceleration of country life; the feathered caress of memories both decades old and months new; the nourishing grace of wildflowers, green leaves and open space, long walks in the pasture, and the animating chatter of birds. Blessing days, indeed. Waiting, now, at gate 35, the shift is so abrupt and complete, it’s hard to believe that Berclair is only short hours behind us…

…and, with good fortune, only short months ahead of us. In the meantime, I’ll keep praying for rain.