Yesterday is dead.
Tomorrow isn’t born.
We can only live in the present.
I spent a lot of time outdoors on this last weekend of summer. I always do so when summer is on the wane, even though – for me – a certain amount of melancholia accompanies the arrival of fall. Though I love the milder temperatures and changing colors, I am reminded that time is passing, my beautiful child is another year older (and so am I), and I am only a passerby on this planet.
But this summer was a good one, and I have discovered Life from a different angle. My presence here, though ephemeral, does not have to be defined by “the other,” whether that be circumstances or people. All I have to do is be here. Now. But to do so, I have to be present – and my past conditioning dictates that I despair over the past or worry about the future. All those fears have not melted away – ten years of incessant change and enveloping sadness do not disappear in one summer.
So Norm coaxed me outside and created diversion – as he always does – when he senses that Life has its hooks in my thoughts. We raked leaves, filled in holes, stacked wood, and repotted saplings. And when the work was done, he took me on the water.
Maybe I came to the bayou to hide from Life. Maybe I came here to discover it. I still haven’t figured out why I am here, why anyone is anywhere. But the man I married knows, and that is enough for me. His strength encourages me to challenge old thought patterns and to live with intention.
And my thoughts rise on the path to the sun.