Sometimes you miss the backdrop of your story because the plot is moving too fast.
On my way home tonight, I took in the fields as they were stripped of their bounty by hungry combine monsters. Seeing tall stalks of corn turn into flat farmland as they mow down the fields always amazes me.
Once their job is complete and the fields are empty, you can once again see houses and silos dotting the terrain. Mile after mile they stand, no longer hidden by the growing corn.
To ease the embarrassment of the naked land, the trees begin to display their glory. Drawing eyes to the orange, red and yellow that start to emerge and take over the green of summer. Today they were still unsure if Fall is really on its way. A few days of Indian Summer confused them leaving pops of red amidst the remaining summer leaves.
This is the setting of my story today.
Driving Suhn home from PT tonight, taking in the scenery, my thoughts drifted back to a group of people who shared our story for a brief space of time on the other side of the world. I remember parts of the backdrop of that story. Mainly, I remember the plot and the characters.
I thought about our gotcha day, the chaos of the moment. Fifteen babies meeting their parents for the first time, everyone helping everyone record the momentous occasion. Over the two weeks that followed we laughed, celebrated, cried and prayed together.
And then we went home.
To different backdrops.
To continue our stories.
I miss them. And while I have to be content with following their stories from afar for now, I hope that our paths will intersect again and we can take in the scenery of another place and share another moment together before too much time gets in the way.