I woke up around 5am, made my tea, and went outside to write by candlelight. At 6:40 a rooster began crowing, then as the low, somewhat mournful, sound of the train whistle bellowed down in The Valley, a full choir of birds joined their voices in “The Song of The Morning”. Through the branches of the locust tree I could still see the moon in the gray-blue sky.
Years fly by in the blink of an eye. My granddaughter, who only yesterday seemed to be a toddler, is already twelve. We now have adult-like conversations. The hands of time are moving so very quickly. I do not yearn for prosaic but I do wish that, sometimes, there would be not quite as much to move through, to jump over, to plod under. There are so many significant times that I try to freeze-frame and catalogue. There have been countless experiences that I’ve wanted to hang onto forever—stored away in an arcane place, safe from the public, but there whenever I want to call them back to me.
I want to be in every moment—fully, not simply as a spectator, but immersed in it. I don’t want to squander the precious time I have left. What am I so afraid of losing? Will that fear change anything? (I believe the answer is “no”.)
I’m struck by the absolute magnificence of a flower that sits on the table as I write. I study it, overwhelmed by the beauty of its simplicity, and the wonder of its complexity. I think of a woman, named Gerrie, whose physical company I’ve only had the pleasure of being in a few times, but who has left an imprint on me because of who she is—grace and beauty and joy. The flower reminds me of her.
Sometimes we notice change, but often, in the blur of life, we miss it all. The earth is spinning at 1000 miles per hour. We don’t feel it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not happening. Life is going on around us. If we’re not participating/aware/involved that doesn’t mean that nothing’s going on. It simply means that we’re standing still in a world in motion.
I desire to be a change-agent, not simply a change-watcher. But, I’m aware that, in my humanness, I have limitations. I cannot stop those I love from being hurt. I cannot always protect my friends in life’s storms. I cannot change the course of history that demands to be played out.
I realize (again) that there is no way to stop the passing of time….that there is only change. I can mourn the now—which as I write becomes the past. I can kick and scream and beg time to slow down, but it won’t. It can’t. So, the hopeful spirits sing, as impulses of truth course through us, and move us to action, while astute lessons are learned at nature’s hand.
The earth will continue to circle the sun. The moon, which will continue to circle our earth, is now invisible to me—not gone, simply waiting for its next show. And, so, a new day has begun. The question—for all of us—is what will we do with it?