It's been a long week in America. Much has changed and I am one of many reeling with feelings long held captive in my soul. Feelings so deep, words fail to describe them as they surface in waves. Thoughts whirlpool. What? How? Why?
As I calm my children in their panic and fear. As I shake my head in disbelief. As I try to assure my children and their children and myself that somehow good will prevail.
There is a fog over the lake today. It a lies thick over the water and deadens the sounds of the ducks and geese. But just as I let the fog shroud me, too, I turn the corner and there 4 feet away, close to the edge of the lake is a great, blue heron. Majestic and still in the cold water, waiting with patience undisturbed by my presence, the heron is focused on what is most important in this moment. Only.
The fog hovers still over the water but up above, there is a halo forming in the sky. The gray shroud is shimmering as the sun gently and pushes its way through. A light. A beacon. Hope.
I wonder as I wander through the woods. It is the trees rooted below the fallen and decaying leaves that give me strength. Below the decay of this year's leaves is fertile soil bringing life to the roots of the tree. I know that no matter who or how or what winds blow through these woods, my tree is safe and strong and growing.
Have you ever noticed that even on a shrouded, foggy day, there is gold? The yellow, golden leaves that have refused to fall, shine forth. Anyway.