The forest path is no longer hard and dusty. Underneath, soft ground springs forth gratitude. Broken branches from recent wind and rain, break easily in my hand, a gift for the fireplace. Toe shoes spread and distribute weight, causing me to feel more sure-footed than age would suggest.
Gratitude expands as this morning’s fierce cold dissolves. Clouds dance off to the horizon in graceful patterns, and overhead I see a bluer blue. I have already walked over 7,000 steps today.
Later as I rest in the dining room, late afternoon sun streams a golden light through the quiet space. From behind me, the west window is reflected upon the room’s east wall. The image of the window looks wide open, as if the solid structure of the house has mysteriously dissolved.
My Great-Grandmother Dietrich, who sits at her spinning wheel inside my father’s painting hangs slightly to my left. She looks down at her work as if seeing nothing else. She appears self-contained with a secret strength. The image haunts.
Generations of lessons learned, patterns repeated, or re-arranged, give me an impetus to move towards what is still unknown. I get up. Not yet done, I go outside to greet an orange sunset and practice walking meditation as the last daylight brightens pavers underfoot.
(c) Gudrun Mouw
November 10, 2015