My family was visiting another family from church this evening, and I, tired as I am from my late night conversations and blogs was sweetly escorted home early by my father. I had worn my sparkled slip-on shoes, but he still asked me if I wanted to walk the last mile home. Though I hesitated, I decided that it would be good.
It was reflective and beautiful. The sun had gone down, and there was remnants of its light-- pink and orange wisps of clouds over the flat cornfields. There was a sliver of a crescent moon smudged with darker grey clouds, barely standing out but making itself known either way. I noticed it. I enjoyed it.
And as I was reaching half a mile from home, a quarter mile from home, I was struck with all the memories of walking home from school in the afternoon, in the evening, and sometimes late at night in my home in Streetsboro. The crispness in the air reminded me of first days of school when I was allowed to walk to school-- it reminded me of the early mornings right befor dawn that I headed out to school to conquer my studies. It reminded me of the sweet friendships that I held onto, and though some slipped through my grasp, I still had a group of people that cared and loeved me. And I was reminded of that on my walk home.
My eyes were moist as I made the step toward home. But they were not soaked. I do not cry over good relationships. I was happy for the good times and now I am meloncholy that there will be fewer good times less often.
And I am reminded also that slip on shoes are not the best walking shoes, as there is no support, and there tends to be a rubbing sensation of the back of the ankle.
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