Time for my walk, but I could not tie my shoes. My tremor stutter hand would not work. Shoe in my lap, eyes closed, I asked the little one inside my spirit if she remembered learning to tie her shoes. I didn't always know how to tie shoes. Perhaps if I remembered how I learned I could figure a way to tie my shoes now.
Resting upon the water windows of time I floated back through all the images and albums. I remember the sound of sea gulls and waves at sunrise. I remember once, just once, feeling cute. I remember being loved. I remember love. I remember when to awake meant another day to love and share. I remember the sound of my father's voice. I remember running for miles and miles. I remember the sound of 'hello.' I remember my grandfather teaching me to honor and bow to the forest before you enter. I remember hands that danced with words and eyes that could read. I remember laughter and songs that left me breathless. I remember the feel of my knees as I bowed in awe, wonder and grace. I remember the squeaking sound of feet walking along the beach at night and the sound of unseen waves. I could not, however, remember how I learned to tie my shoes.
As I put my shoes away, a promise to the little one inside and to my heart, we shall never take for granted the precious moments of 'I remember.' I didn't always know beauty, love, waves and grace. But I learned and I remember. Bowing my head, I gave thanks for the grace of having known, and in knowing, to remember. And so my little one and I walked barefoot in the yard instead, a walk I will remember.