.... hearing a train at night, just close enough to hear the clack-clack of the rails. It reminds me of my grandparents' house just across Highway 69 from the railroad in Pryor, where we slept on the screened porch on summer nights, or on a feather bed in the wintertime under piles of homemade quilts.
....the hypnotic creak of locusts in late summer, reminding me that it's time to put aside the slow pleasures of time off and ramp up for a frenzied 10 months of class/gym/grading/squeezing in a little life of my own.
....kneading yeast rolls when the dough is just right---light, but not sticky---and smelling that golden-brown aroma as they bake.
....water running over rocks, slow like sleep, or rushing like all creation singing together. Water lapping on a beach, surf sizzling, spray flying---any water in nature, as long as it brings life and not destruction.
....the sight of anyone I love, laughing.
....reading a real book, with a soft turn of pages, the weight of hardback or ease of paperback, even the smell of the paper.
....a fire in the fireplace, a cloudy sky, and nowhere to be.
....the sunrises as I drive east in the mornings, and the sunsets as I return west in the evening, like the face of God greeting me whenever I turn to my appointed tasks.
....the owls that sometimes take up residence in the trees across the street from me in winter, hooting during the nights I get to stay up late reading and watching movies, and the hawks I count in the bare winter trees as I drive to work in the early dawn.
....the memory of rocking and feeding my twin baby nephews at the same time, my arms just full of babies.
....an inside joke, a knowing look, a long history that leaves no need to explain.
....that one outfit that gives just an extra bounce of confidence.
....understanding that family will always have my back, no matter what.
....the unmistakable smell of sheets dried on a clothesline, and the clean, crisp smell of Downy sheets in the dryer.
....the crazed chaos of three or four women in one kitchen producing a holiday feast. It's not for the faint of heart, but it's full of joy.
....once in a while, seeing the whole world shift in the front of a kid's brain, knowing that he will see everything differently because I showed him something about himself.
....clean sheets with just-shaved legs.
....a hand-cut French fry; a juicy cheeseburger; a ham sandwich on a paper plate under a tree in the warm spring.
....easing into the cool pool after a long, hot day at school, working out everything instead of eating it all.
....coming here each week to find what's buried in the recesses of my brain, worming it out, phrasing it clearly, knowing it'll just be a pale effigy of what I feel----and coming back anyway.
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