September Sunrises

September is coming to a close, and with it comes a temporary end to a frenetic summer pace. Not that I will stop being busy, but hopefully the next few months will feature a somewhat more manageable level of stress. (Whether this allows for more writing remains to be seen). I do have a nugget, a seedling if you will, that I'm nurturing right now, thanks to a single word with a simple meaning that I picked up in a David McCullough essay on Frederic Remington, a famous painter and illustrator from the 19th century. The word is endion, an Algonquin word that simply means "the place where I live." This idea of endion has latched itself to my psyche; since I first read the word, there hasn't been a day that it has failed to enter my thoughts. What this means, I'm not sure, but I believe it will be worth allowing the notion to germinate a little longer. Endion.

The few quiet moments afforded me have taken form in the early morning, when I'm making lunch for the kids and waiting for them to get ready for school. September has offered some of the most lovely sunrises I've seen in years. Or maybe I'm just paying attention now. For those fleeting moments, there is a hushed and renewing peace. People wonder why I've been taking so many pictures from my deck. I can't help it, because each day brings a new vision of … endion. Oh, how I long to be able to put all these fragments of thoughts together! It is all connected, I know it! There is meaning here, if only for me. And if I can find the words, perhaps for you as well. For now, I'll just treasure the sunrise.