Henry and I took a walk today. Because he's sick, he agreed to ride in the stroller and I got some much-needed exercise. As we headed down the wet road, Henry wisely noticed that fall was "really here". A wet kaleidescope of leaves marked our path. Reminding me that something existed here before us.
Moments before our walk, a twisty, tumbling mood descended about me like the stippled rain clouds above. The dappled, molten, gray sky mirrored the toppling malaise within. The sadness frayed the edges, heart aching just so. I didn't understand it. Yet, in a fairly nuanced step for me, I didn't judge it; I embraced it and let it be. I let myself be. Be sad. Angry. There.
Henry and the leaves provided the brightness and levity. I looked down as the dark, wet and slightly-pitted road jumbled along beneath my feet. The leaves still beautiful, my son still, my mood still. I watched Henry's blond hair curl in the damp afternoon. I deeply inhaled the emerging autumnal essence--bold and sweet--and reminiscent of days past. Shaded memories hiding beneath recently fallen leaves. The scent signaled endings, beginnings and the always-present now.
The gray sky comforted me. The spinning wheels of the stroller lulled me into the current moment, filled with dampened beauty. My son, the wise sage, front and center. Now. I realize I am ensconced and interwoven with all the elements--I am not I and they are not they. We are we. (Thank you, Karen Maezen Miller, for this timeless, peaceful reminder.)
My nascent attempts to sit in this moment--regardless of any discord that moment may serve--propel me through to a new reality. Just like the vibrant blue bits of sky that persevered and peeked through as the weather front passed. Just as they always do. Just just as I always do. Just as we do.