Doesn't Get Any Better

8:10 a.m. "The bus is coming, bus coming," Kayla yells out. Six kids tussle to be first in line at the fence line opening to the road in front of our house. "Who forgot lunch?" I call. Joshua runs back into the kitchen to snatch his noontime eat's bag from the table and gives me one more hug on his way back out. I'm watching from the window, mindful what Micala said yesterday...."Mom, please don't come out in the yard with your robe on when the bus comes." Through the front glass I see sun streaming through colored leaves. Wind moving foliage, parting and making way for light bobbing from one open space to the next on its way to touch the ground. A remembered poem names fall hues as the dying but the picture out my window is a lively landscape of green, red, orange and yellow leaves. A chime of wild aster violet. Blue, blue sky. Indigo showing itself on pant legs and back packs to complete a rainbow. Kid's clothing filling in a crayon box of diversity. A quail family scampers from sight even though the front yard is a buffet line of bird seed there is too much action with kids moving through the front yard territory. One child skipping. One marching. One slowing to let others pass. Back packs stuffed. Bus bright with lights flashing. The institutional transport and destination greeted eagerly by the children taking their seats. I see the best of life out my window. Not because they are leaving for school. Relief and quiet has nothing to do with my joy. I am looking and seeing how far we have come.