You and I

You and I sit on the back porch. It is mostly silent except for the squeaking of the old, wicker rocking chairs outside. We haven't said anything in five minutes, but it doesn't really matter. I don't think either of us care. I watch a bird flutter down onto the patio. It chirps, jumps, and flies away. I chuckle. You grin. We continue to sit. I look over at you. You look back. I smile at you. You smile back. And I look away, thinking about how good I have it.
It's the simple life. You chuckle. "What?" "Nothing." I grin. Nothing of any consequence may be said within an hour of us sitting like this, yet I feel like I've had the conversation of a lifetime.
It begins raining, and as we begin to talk, we can barely hear even our own voices over the sound of the roaring of water through the gutters overhead. The smell of April fills my lungs as the rain sends up an earthy smell from the ground. A disgruntled wren flies through the air to the bushes by the picket fence. You and I talk more. And our thoughts turn to a more serious mood as the wind flies through the screen and rushes into the brick wall behind us, finding no place to go. As we talk, I learn to think like you think, because I believe it's a much more interesting state of mind. And maybe we'll go back to sitting in silence, or maybe our conversation will continue for another two hours. I never know.
It's just you and me sitting together. And that's all I really want.

You and I ride down the interstate blasting Relient K or The Avett Brothers. We sit in absolute silence all the way up. The hypnotizing lull of the tires rasping across the black asphalt put me in a quiet state of mind. You and I sit there, occasionally making a comment on something, perhaps even holding a conversation from time to time. 45 minutes of this, and all is right with the world.
We're on the way back. Another 45 minutes of this. This time it's night, and we pass through states of city lights and star lights. We laugh the whole way back. Anberlin, or perhaps Rich Mullins or Simon and Garfunkel (or if we're feeling in an epic mood, the Dark Knight Rises soundtrack) is playing in the background. We talk about life and people and everything that comes to mind until we get home.
Sometimes we might even sit up in my room until three in the morning continuing a conversation that probably no one else would understand. But that's okay. I'd listen to you talk for three hours straight. It's fun to listen to you talk. I learn so much when I listen to you, and I think you teach me more about life than most "wise" people do. I don't want to be anywhere else right now. Because,
it's just you and me talking with each other. And that's all I really want.

You and I sit up until five in the morning. We talk about the most insane things, and laugh about the stupidest things. Know what I like about you? I like the fact that you can make me laugh about stupid things. I like it when people can do that. And when I'm so mad at you that I want to scream, you just sit there and remain calm. Or laugh at me. Either one typically works, and you know when to use which one. We're best friends. You and I both have a sense of wonder about us that few people have. A sense of ridiculousness that few people have. And I like that. I like sitting out in the yard with you with no tent staring at the stars. I like watching the moon set behind the pine trees in your backyard until it has completely disappeared among the evergreens.
We may talk for hours. We may watch our favorite TV shows. We may watch a stupid movie from Disney. Whatever we do, we have fun at it. We ride in your car blasting music with the windows down in the middle of winter. We talk about the most serious of topics, and worry about things that shouldn't be worried about. But we get each other.
It's just you and me being best friends. And that's all I really want.

In Desire of Autumn

I'll admit it, I'm kind of a fall girl.
Although I'm pretty sure most of you know that.

I know I talk a lot about how much I love the sweaters, cicadas (just so long as they're not on my face, head, or within fifty feet of me), leggings and jeans, pumpkins, apple cider, and the like. And it's true, I absolutely adore those things. I love the idea of back to school supplies, carrying around Vera Bradley purses and bags, sitting in the backyard with my camera, and all those lovely things that just come with autumn.
However, there is something that I don't talk about a lot in relation to autumn, and that is music.
To me, each season has a "sound" in music. Spring is a conglomeration of beautiful indie music and the beginning of summer music. Summer music is some good rock music, ranging from Southern rock like Lynyrd Skynyrd to some good "hard" rock (at least in my terms) like Anberlin. Winter music is usually just Christmas music. Incessantly. Constantly. Every second of the day. I listen to a little bit of other stuff, you know, a little bit of Coldplay awesomeness, but really. Christmas music is really all I need during winter.
But as for autumn, it has probably the most distinct sound. It's just the most beautiful of sounds. To me, autumn sounds like The Avett Brothers, Relient K, Paul Colman Trio, Michael Buble, Ella Fitzgerald, Nickel Creek, David Crowder Band, and Dashboard Confessional. It's a mix of light rock, bluegrass, and the good 'ol 40s classics.
I know to most people some of these bands might not sound particularly "fallish," but to me they have particular memories attached to them. I remember finding the song "Stolen" by Dashboard Confessional last autumn and absolutely falling in love with it, listening to it incessantly. I remember listening to Michael Buble and Ella Fitzgerald the past two years, and especially last year; that music helped me through so much. I remember blasting The Avett Brothers and Relient K while driving down the interstate with my brother. Paul Colman Trio reminds me of Chicago in the fall. These things are just lovely to me.

Since autumn is coming, I decided to follow the trend of posting playlists from Spotify to my blog. This is an August playlist. You'll definitely hear a mix of summer sounds and autumn sounds. It could go from Anberlin to Ella Fitzgerald in a heartbeat, so be prepared for anything. *wink*



To me these songs bring a roaring end to swimming in the river, eating frozen yogurt, driving down the interstate in the heat of summer, and watching summer flicks at the theater, while heralding in watching White Collar, drinking hot tea, cider, and chai incessantly, sitting outside with blankets and hot, homemade popcorn, and festivals.

So long summer. Welcome autumn.

August - A month for thought

August is my least favorite month of the year.

Although this might seem like a pessimistic thing to say, let me give you a few reasons why I hate August so much:

First. It's the month in which I start back to school. And this year I am a senior. And I am not ready for it. I started school on Monday, and literally sat at my desk for nearly thirty minutes thinking, "I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this. I'm not ready for this." You guys, I'm seriously not ready to be a senior.

Second. For the past two years, I have just gotten back from a two week long camp where I had super close friends. And I return to home. And home isn't exactly that lovely fairy tale land called summer camp. Home is that place called real life. Fairy tale mindsets and the stuff the real life throws at you don't dwell well together, I've learned.

Third. I have many bad memories attached to August. For the past two years, August has been a time in which I have gone through something incredibly difficult in my life. I'm starting to feel like August is a virtual Friday the 13th for me.

Fourth. It is that time that is just before autumn. And you want autumn so badly. But you can't reach it because it's still ninety-six and a half degrees outside. 

And the list goes on.

I'm not a fan of August.

However, at the same time, I feel rather reclusive and thoughtful this month. As I said, the past two years, two of some of the hardest things in my life had either just happened or were happening in August, and it was just a tough month. Or, for last year, the first of several tough months.

I like to look back to those times and see where I have come from those. 

I have grown.

I am a different person.

I like to imagine that God has shaped me and is still shaping me from and through these experiences. Although they are painful at the time, they have led me to a deeper sense of God's presence, power, and love. And if I can see that, believe that, and feel that, I think that those experiences were for the best.

Also, since August is the month of starting school back for pretty much every school kid, I tend to muse about past school days. I feel like an eighty year old sometimes when I think back to my freshman year... it feels like it was so long ago, when in reality, it was only three years ago. But I like to imagine those late summer and early autumn days when I first started high school. It's especially funny and interesting this year, because I'm a senior. Looking at my freshman self and looking at myself now, in comparison, is quite amusing. And once again,

I like to look back to those times and see where I have come from those.

I have grown.

I am a different person.

Lastly, like I said, August is that time just before autumn when the cicadas start screaming their melodies in the oak tree behind our house. It's that time when you can just feel autumn coming. Although the weather doesn't seem to speak of its coming, I can just imagine the feeling of warm plaid shirts and sweaters, of my knee socks and blankets. I can imagine the cozy feeling of drinking apple cider out on the back porch, huddled up in a ball, sipping the spicy scent, wearing wool socks and a ridiculously large sweater, and watching the leaves change from green to yellow and fall to the ground. I love how the seasons reflect life. In nature there is a constant living and dying, and beginning of new things and ending of old ones. And it makes me think about our own lives. The fleeting senior year will soon turn to yellow leaves, and will fall slowly (or perhaps quickly depending on how much I procrastinate on graduation and college business) until every last hint of my life in high school is gone. Yet I'll still be there, ready to grow again in whatever lies ahead.
In August, I'll think about those things.

In August, I'll imagine the hearty taste of butternut squash filled with sausage and apples.

In August, I'll remember where I've come from and where God has brought me.

In August, I'll remember the feeling of warm socks and sweaters.

In August, I'll remember the scents I smell when I get pumpkins at Fresh Market.

In August, I'll remember the sight of the brightest blue sky.
In August, I'll prepare for the things that will one day be nostalgic remembrances.

In August, I'll remember skipping down the street singing Josh Bales and watching the leaves.

In August, I'll remember autumn. I'll remember change. I'll remember.

Past Augusts have brought a lot of things that have tried to bring me down. But this August, I'll remember how those things, in the end, brought me up.

"The first week of August hangs at the very top of 

summer,

the top of the live-long year, like the highest

Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.

The weeks that come before are only a climb from

balmy spring,

and those that follow a drop to the 

chill of autumn,

but the first week of August is motionless, and hot.

It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns

and glaring noons,

and sunsets smeared with too much color.

Often at night there is lightning,

but it quivers all alone."

-Natalie Babbitt