The very first time we pulled into the parking lot, it was after an overnight drive. Something about a sunrise arrival sinks into your pores and won’t let go: the way the rising sun glows pink, brightening over the pines; the vague scent of salt in the air as it travels from the coast inland; the stillness that hums below the sounds of my stretching and yawning. The air hinted at a crispness, matching our mood exactly. A tingle of excitement gripped loosely at my husband and I, and we linked fingers: We’re here!
On another morning arrival, the spire achingly beautiful in the morning glow, it’s impossible not to breathe deeply and inhale the promise of sunshine. The muted murmur of cars arriving are echoes of hallowed conversations past. The determined click of my black pumps on the tiled hallway reverberate and my office door opens with a familiar eek. The view from my window inspires daydreams – pines gently swaying and just hiding a view of the ocean, and gently rolling hills, lushly green. With a grin, I wonder to myself; I’m here?
Bitter winds slap my face as I trudge, with errands, wintry mix and boredom all cause for grousing. The pavement is slick, the clouds have gathered and the concrete hallways seem to suck up any displaced heat and energy. Hands that once held mine now type with focus, adding fuel to the grouchy mood. With an internal snarl I mutter: Why are we here?
Among a sea of black robes and tassels my eyes find yours. Pride swells as the music; and I can see the spire, framed in the shadows. The pines remain, unmoving and the roar of the crowd fades. Do we really have to leave?
This post is day two of Writing101, part of a Blogging U course. We were to write about a place, and I chose Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary, where Ian did his MDiv and I worked on campus. Coincidentally, today is my second day as a full-time staff member, again!