Why I am lucky

This is what I see:

My dad wields his digital videocamera, pointing it in every direction trying to capture images of beautiful fall colors -- red, orange, yellow, brown, green leaves on the tall, tall trees. And the shining blue surface of the lake reflecting into his camera lens.

My mother is slowly wending her way around the lake, with my father following behind, recording with his camera her beautiful walk, hips sashaying back and forth -- this was what he loved about her when they were young, and loves her for it still. She's looking for leaves to dry and press into poetry books for me, her aspiring poetess. There are at least half a dozen that she's collected, and holds up to the camera for him to see... the organic shapes still vibrant with reds and oranges and yellows like unwritten poetic images.

My parents' backyard fills with white, white, white snow. The trees line their back fence like mimes standing with outstretched arms frozen in the air. Steam from mom's coffee cup wafts up, clouding dad's camera lens, and he steps back with the camera to show her sitting with the door to her back, the snow still falling. Half her face is lit by the white snow's reflection. Somewhere behind her I see a green and lush pepper tree.

At 10 p.m. when the neighborhood must be asleep, they are still singing hymns. Alongside dad's guitar strumming, mom's voice is a high soprano, and dad sometimes chimes in with the alto, other times with the bass. They do this every once in a while, singing favorite hymns and recording them onto cassette tapes. I think 10 years from now we won't hardly stand to listen to them, but they are precious nonetheless. This moment of them singing at the same microphone, mom holding the hymn book while dad plays the guitar, will never be forgotten, never be repeated in quite the same way. I want to listen to them forever, even the flat notes, but they interrupt to ask me to join them.

We get to return once every few months to find the rooms all furnished and ready for our use. Cottonballs, towels, linens, etc. all set out waiting for our arrival. We find a particular kind of shampoo that they have set apart for us. Or perhaps a little fruit that they've saved for our enjoyment. So much love. So much.