elderflower tea.

“And I'll build a fire, you fetch the water and I'll lay the table.
And in our hearts, we still pray for sons and daughters.
And all those evenings out in the garden, red, red, wine,
These quiet hours turning to years.” –Allman Brown

We sit by the fire, sipping elderflower tea and reading here and there. It is a lovely moment. A lovely life. And yet, there is a little question in the shadows, a hint of sad, or curiosity maybe. Is this life? The one we imagined?

Words go fuzzy as brain goes rambling—what is it that we want, beyond adventure, love, and fireside silence? When we try to fall asleep and think instead, what are the thoughts we keep awake for?

There is sweet looking back: coffee on the beach after sunset, tired lungs on a mountain, laughing over food with friends, the cozy-home days and unforgettable travels. The way our heart loved.

There is sweet looking forward: the new things that scare-excite, the trip, the weekend, the art to create, the deepening of friendship, the walks. All the potential for more love.

There is sweet looking now: tea by the fire, the long thoughts before sleep, work to do, people to care for, the music to serenade every bit of it. Love.

We want that—to see beauty no matter which direction we look at time. Whether “that-which-happened,” “that-which-will-hopefully-come,” or, and especially, “that-which-is-now.”

Is it lovely to us?

Because—we hardly need say it—for all the sweet looking there is much bitter too. And though it feels a near impossible discipline, our way of looking is self-chosen.

Stained glass collects water drops on the back porch and not everything goes the way that seems to lead to happiness. It can be beautiful in the rain though. Hearts, keep praying. May it be joy for all, to see the quiet hours turn to years.