To Turn the Page

Sometimes in the vastness of everything, the comings and goings, the doings and demands, the texture of life can get lost.  A child will always make a bee line for the lake’s water with a frantic parent running behind calling their name.  An elderly person walking slowly with their four legged child speaking quietly and if you look you’ll see such softness in their eyes. The leaves, caught in autumn’s breeze dance and prepare to take flight only to crash against a metal fence. You can almost see, in their pause, their bewilderment, having taken flight, and then they rest upon the ground, content. 

So much life in front of us, and in Life’s infinity, never an end. There is no hand that writes “The End” only the gentle touch that turns the page and continues to whisper the next chapter. Winter is coming, and all retreat inside. The season of reflection and quiet.  Would that we carry the winter’s rhythm each day and see the textures of Life and Love.  Maybe, I wonder, if we did, the hurts and sorrows we cause or suffer might diminish …. Having learned to see Life’s little things, to turn the page.…the true tapestry of Life….Love.

Old Fashion

In a world of texting, internet, Twitter and all, sometimes it is nice to go back to an old fashion way.

Undaunted Blue

Walking around the park lake yesterday, I pondered the morning's excursion to another lake and a path blanketed from the sun by trees and the sound of a river dancing.  In the midst of the tree limb'd canopy, a small opening filled with the sun pointing to a tiny blue flower, in solitude amidst the green fir fingers of new fir trees reaching for the sun.

As I walked and remembered, a tiny voice yelled at me, "I'll race you!" Stopping I saw a young boy on his Hot Wheel tricycle, his face fixed in anticipation. His mother and grandmother giggled in embarrassment. I knelt beside him and asked if he thought he could win. His tiny feet danced on the pedals and his eyes grew big. Assuming a runner's starting pose, I looked at him and counted us down.... We reached the tree's finish line the Hot Wheel and a boy's laughter crossed first.  Kneeling beside him I raised my arms in the air and told him to feel his strength. Timid at first, his arms flew up. The grandmother's hands likewise flew clasped to her heart. His mother laughed so hard I do not know if the picture she took with her phone was steady. I whispered, "Well done!" and bowed as I left.  Never has defeat tasted so sweet.

A tiny blue flower, defiant and determined, embraced by a sliver of sun. Tiny arms that felt the power of their courage. The joy of defeat. Simple fragments of a day, the threads of life.