I have been uncharacteristically speechless since my last post. What could possibly matter in my fine and privileged life while so many humans fight for freedom, drinking water, abortion rights and safety from guns? Words seem like throwing sand into the wind.
Dial down, I remind myself, focus on the small steps, what is in front of me. Listen. Breathe.
I changed coasts a few weeks ago, left the beautiful cold spring of the Pacific Northwest where blossoms and scents slowly unfurled for weeks and weeks despite the rain. Unlike what just happened here in one random 80 degree day last week in the Northeast — everything burst, a cacophony of instant springtime — lilac, roses, lily of the valley, plum, clematis, narcissus all busted out their perfume and pollen and color and threw it into the bluebird skyline. Whew.
Gardeners like me, holding back because of well — snow — must rush outside, snap on year-old crusty gloves, pull out shovels, pruners, compost and throw out backs, knees, elbows; burn the backs of our necks, destroy our shoes in the flurry of catching up to the marvelous mother nature. Yes, me.
This morning I stepped out, a bit limpy, with tea in hand. The air was wet with sea fog. I stood still.
There is so much to be done. As the robins chortled, the dog chased squirrels, the road began to steam I took stock: I need to do it well, and with intention. Small things, like peg the peonies bending from last night’s storm. Big things, like celebrate the engagement of my son. Who and what needs me the most, what should be done on the list first, what has been put off too long?
First, breathe that air, coasting off the water, carried by the morning breezes.
What do we really want to do with our lives — we have survived so much, now what?
I would like to bake a cake. I would like to write something someone will remember. I would like to walk a little further than before. I will take care of the body that was given to me then send it forth, shouting. I will let go what I cannot change, I will fiercely embrace what I can accomplish.
I am good enough today, speechless or shouting. And that will have to do.
4 thoughts on “Sea Fog”
Loved this writing.
And I still seem to love you- who you were 30 years ago and who you are now.
There is no greater compliment. Thank you Jana.
Well done, ADG! Weather’s good here today. Rare this spring, as you know. Read my post today and keep throwing sand into the wind.