I went early to the river this morning with Laurie-dog. I spent some of that reflection time that Anne Morrow Lindburgh speaks of….necessary for women, or people in general. It contributes to how we live our lives and how we love…..walking….visiting nature….meditating.
It was an interesting thing. I went to a place where I had to drive the van initially and park . Laurie hesitated as I slid the side door open. It was a little unnerving; the fog. As I set out I was reluctant, but stepped forward into the white. Trees and bushes were etched lightly on the surface and branches were like brush strokes on canvas. As we stepped forward, the world was uncovered or revealed and behind us a blank sheet came down and everything disappeared. At some point we became enveloped in the present moment. It seemed there was nothing behind and nothing ahead.
I could not see the river, but felt it in every bone of my body. It was like a friend who was no longer with me….like Ramona in Michigan….or my mother in Belleville……or my daughter in London. I felt the river. I smelled it. Somewhere mingled with muffled sounds of a city-world were voices…women’s voices…perhaps coming from the other side.
Looking that direction, I saw bare trees floating on white….branches in the sky, with nothing to ground them. And then I looked upward, where white blended gradually into a soft blue sky….and most brilliant and beautiful, an almost half-moon against the deepest of all blues. I stood there alone and wept for the absolute treasure of the moment. This was a gift for me, alone, early this morning in the fog.
Hiking back to the van, I stooped and plucked up a bright yellow dandelion, a last bit of summer, delicious in the white morning. I placed it in my vest pocket and stood it in a small cup of water on my window sill when I arrived home….a gesture that was a simple recollection of childhood and my own mother’s love.