I’ve worn these boots to walk the Pecos path for over ten years. Today I thanked and retired them.
It’s fitting that they fell apart on this trip as I also let go of Trudy’s tree – a tree I deemed and decorated as Trudy’s tree on my first visit to Our Lady of Guadalupe Monastery, All Saints Day, October 2012. Imagine my shock when I discovered that someone had cut it down!
In this call to set goals, lose 20 pounds, change…
Has Nature presented this art of sunshine and shadows every morning? Have I only now noticed her daily gift of beauty right here in my room?
I hear the neighbors start their car in the driveway six feet from my window. I see the image on my wall shimmer and shift in sync with the sound of two more car doors slamming loudly, and then, a moment later, as the Suburban filled with three energetic boys and one schedule-weary mom reverses and leaves, my art goes away. My wall goes blank and returns to the ordinary of every morning.
Nature, it seems, has used the magic of light and car windows and walls as her medium, brush, and canvas to create her art this morning. The irony of Nature employing the car and the people next door, often too close and too loud for my liking, is not lost on me. Nor the impermanence of her creation.
Earth Day. Trudy’s birthday.
I tried not to think too much about today and it being Trudy’s birthday and fittingly, Earth Day. But too many mystical tugs and sweet remembrances from friends made it impossible for me to not write about the beauty of Trudy and the beauty of our Earth.
Continue reading Earth Day 2023
It’s a little cooler. Still humid though. Damp, overcast, still. Quiet — eerily so.
It’s a busy day. Several zoom meetings, groceries to get, and then I need to make one more phone call this afternoon.
I am very upset. I have gained back all the weight I slaved to take off three years ago. I don’t like the way I look, or the way this feels. But, I am the same soul inside this puffy coat.
All roads out of this “coat” lead to grief. There is sadness in giving up my favorite foods — cookies, in particular. And, hope is dashed in feeling young again — lighter, less trapped and controlled by how tight these jeans feel.
Without much thought, I slip into old defaults of creating calendars with harsh diets and fantastical weight goals, followed by the predictable genuflect at the WW altar app. I pull up just in time to remember and write:
One day at a time. This day at this time.
It really is about one day at a time. This body. This mind, and most importantly — this soul.
What does this soul want most of all?
To be loved. To express. To be allowed to imagine and play as a soul alone, and a soul with others.
Long after the flesh has rotted and these bones have turned to dust,
this soul will carry on.
Its light and energy bound to nothing
and everything and everywhere without a how.
I can know this when the fires of fear fade to smoke,
and the smoke of yesterday’s stories clear — if but for a moment.
Maybe no longer than the firefly’s short glory against the darkening sky,
but long enough, at least,
to light one speck of space
in the humid blanket hovering over the bean field.
Sometimes I just need a little space.
It may be my prairie soul calling.