Saturday #38--Baby Steps

I couldn't resist. The pull was too strong.

After my completely ordinary morning yesterday, I grabbed my green smoothie, my camera, and  my audio book (Zusak's The Book Thief--as beautiful as his language is to read, it's even better when the words pierce your imagination effortlessly), and I headed north on the Beeline Highway.

North past saguaro, sandstone, juniper, and scrub oak. North to the small grove of Ponderosa pine where a sliver of my heart is finding residence.

 Piles of lumber and buckets of nails.

 Bundles of trusses and boxes of screws.

 Plywood and support beams.

 All impatiently waiting like me.

 Foundation is poured. Stem walls have been reinforced and allowed to cure.

The plans have been reviewed, edited, and tweaked here and revised there.

I watched as the contractor and framer carefully palpated the concrete like a nurse looking for a juicy vein before pounding a hole in the floor for the kitchen drain--my kitchen drain.

 Workers' traces linger--gloves, tire tracks, an open tool box.

 And these two arches, currently framing mountain views . . .

 . . . and standing sentinel over the construction site . . .

. . . will one day frame two rows of windows in the great room of the cabin.

Our cabin. Our dream.

The temperature, although more comfortable than the valley I had left behind, still hadn't reached the bite of fall, and the trees were still firmly attached to their greenery. 

Still, I took a few moments and sat.

I sat on the five still-curing front steps that lead up to the still mottled front porch and listened to the laughter of the trees as they were tickled by the almost autumn-like breeze. I could hear the years of laughter that will fill the air and see my children and grandchildren as they sit on my lap on these steps for years to come.

Then, reluctantly, I turned the Suburban around, found my place in my book, and headed back to Mesa.

South past scrub oak, juniper, sandstone, and back to the saguaro. South to responsibility and life and those that I love. 

One day. One day soon, these two lives will combine into one.

Soon. Patience. Baby steps. Baby steps.