What if . . .
This week my eyes have seen the most amazing things. Yesterday it was a girl (about 9 maybe), skipping through the park, and the light hit her just perfectly, that you could just start to see the way her legs moved inside her gorgeous, flowy pants. And the combination of the light shining through, and the movement of the fabric, and the movement of her body, were all so beautiful. I wanted to explain to her mom how beautiful it was, but I decided that no matter what words I used, it would just sound super creepy. So I kept it to myself — this beautiful scene.
And today, it was the leaves falling from the London Plane trees all through the park. It’s like they all got together and signaled that today was the day. And as Rufus and I tried to go through my morning speed walking and exercises, I kept just coming to a complete stop, to watch all the leaves tumbling down. It was gorgeous. The Northeast is GORGEOUS in the fall. It just is. It will never get old. I will never tire of this. Even long after leaves everywhere have done their magical color changes, it is still stunning and jaw dropping. You can watch it all happen — the leaves turning and then gently floating down. You can hear the acorns and ginkgo fruits dropping from the trees. You can smell the change of temperature, and the slow decay of the already fallen leaves. Not a bad smell. But musty and earthy, deep and rich.
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And in the park, bounding about, was this fantastic Puli, or Komondar, or something, with the most incredible corded dreads. Just flowing all around him, in waves of movement that just screamed of joy. I can’t even imagine the kind of care his dreadlocks have taken. But he was magnificent. I can barely wash and dry my OWN hair. Rufus is on his own, except for the occasional washing and shaving that I send him out for.
And these scenes, and millions of others like them, that I start my days with, out at the park, are what keep me going and moving forward. On the mornings where I wonder what it’s all about and why I would even bother moving through the day, these scenes push me on. When I can’t fathom what the point of me actually is now, or how I’ll maneuver through the next decades, a ray of sunshine, or a tail wagging dog, or a beautiful tree can settle my soul.
What do people do who don’t live next to a park? Who don’t go out into nature? Who don’t go upstate and climb through the waterfalls? Who don’t go to New Mexico and hike up to my meadow and sit by my stream and bask in the sun? What if they aren’t married to a Rob? What if they don’t have a Rufus? What if they don’t go to concerts, or to dinner, or to movies or shows? What if they don’t play pickleball with their friends? What if their grown kids don’t text or call? What if their family doesn’t reach out?
My schedule has been so busy for the past two years. So many doctors. So much therapy. So many trainers and gym sessions. Workshops and traveling — all to keep my brain working and reaching and practicing difficult things. But now, it is just me, and just living my life. Just moving through each day. I can’t decide where I’m going with this post. Maybe because I can’t decide where I’m going with me. I feel differently about it everyday. And most days I’m not even sure what I feel. Maybe I’ll just stop now. And go eat some pasta and binge watch TV.
