As we gathered our picnic lunch, blankets in which to wrap in case it was cold at the beach, and chatted happily about a day together exploring, I saw where the spiders had found a home in my father’s Model A.
Once the pride of his workmanship, the lovingly and painstakingly restored – even painted the same color as a car he once had – beauty, sat on twisted wheels, misshapen by the fire.
The fuel gauge would forever register empty; a top speed of 65 mph would never be reached; parade entries were of course anymore out of the question.
But there was beauty there in the intricate gossamer strands of spiders’ webs, and in the memories of my dad’s smiling face as he worked those many hours recreating what once was.
Our road trip that day would take us down country roads where old, rugged crosses marked the entrance gate to a cemetery.
We walked hand-in-hand below the plum blossoms, inhaling their pleasant fragrances, sweet and fresh, a welcome sight in this early spring, even as they dropped tears from a recent rain.
What beauty there is in this journey.
What opportunity each day there is to enjoy the company of those we’ve been privileged to love.
Today matters.
