Thursday, June 21, 2012
Today is Low's birthday. So Geronimo and I sit on a dark Virginian wrap-around porch, the second day of summer, surrounded by lightening bugs and frog songs, listening to the entire Rumours album by Fleetwood Mac. Researching our next chapter. This spring, while in Colorado with Spencer, I had the pleasure of running into my best Environmental Studies buddy. Anna. Anna from Cambridge and Vermont, who daily shot pure maple syrup. Beautiful Anna was wrapping up her Public Policy and Health MS from Colorado State and beamed as she told of world travel plans. Different continents for each season in the upcoming year... I'll say she's mastering something... a different sort of health. And I've been SO excited for her adventures... to see what they will bring. But I found an insight of a different sort a few days ago from Anna, in the form of an F Scott Fitzgerald quote... "And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.” So I go deeper down the rabbit hole. Perfectly content to find one open window to crawl through, into the next chapter. Reaching into the dark for the same vigor and strength that took a heartbroken 18 year old girl to Montana. Afterall,it doesn't much matter which way you go... you're sure to get somewhere if you only walk long enough. So says the Cheshire Cat to Alice. I've been overcome by water lately. Paddling. Fishing. Watching. Praying. Spencer tries to coax a roll out of me and in the midst of "getting over the doubt in my eyes" I remember finesse. That finely lucid grip of guiding and understanding. Where what I want, and what the river wants are the same. And we dance. Fluidity. In the meantime... I've vowed to spend this time, these days, as if they were the last. A last adventure, a last conversation, a last Virginian summer dusk to watch lightening bugs rise out of the grass. And love every beautiful, fluid, unknown moment of it.