Thoughts words and actions from Grandma
Bed of frozen leaves insulating the trail, making cautious footing. Sunlight warm enough to awaken warrior insects whose tribes still slumber.
Forest bed warm and wet, moss still inviting.
Summit snow and wind blowing dagger ice chunks from trees.
Peanut butter and jelly sandwich on cold rocks in the warm sun.
The tween season can be challenging, but like everything else in life you have a good chance of succeeding if you prepare yourself, think about layers, and appreciate what you have.
Barry gave up trying to make sense of the newest version of software. Like his co-workers, he hated to call IT for assistance because he knew that they would be able to fix his issues immediately, and he just couldn’t stand looking like an idiot again. Instead, he opted for the method of just pushing different keys until something different happened. This of course led to clicking more options until something happened, and, well, he called IT.
Roots entwined, hardened and raised as bones from a skeleton left, not remembered and drying. The trail calling to step high and look down, no gazing at filtered sunlight, gentle fluttering leaves or hurried chipmunk.
Sometimes life’s gift is a hard lesson that causes you to focus in order not to misstep and fall, but the beauty in that is that you focus.
Shafts of light against mature bark, brown and warm. Red and yellow curved edges happily floating on a clear gentle stream. Soil dusty and tamped down from satisfied hikers.
It should be beautiful but for some it’s not. It is shafts of low light bringing another day to an end and all that has changed is the day. Red and yellow curved edges that will soon brown and freeze solid in place, another moment without result. Soil dusty as air out of hopeful breaths that life will be different and it isn’t. It’s the same. The desire but not the outcome.
The pandemic has touched everyone. It is oddly fascinating that everything has changed but it’s still the same. And I fear another year ending, another holiday season approaching, another day full of change without outcome.
I walk slowly having made it to the top. My breath slows and returns to normal and I am grateful that this moment brings me peace in the clouds and mist, because the path that I am on honors my true self.
May you be aware of the gift that is life.
May you use this opportunity wisely and be the best expression of love that you can be. Even when it’s hard. Even when you begin to age and your body begins to stiffen and the younger generation takes up more space. Even when you are less useful.
Still then, may you be peace and love.
When love is in reach but you hesitate because you still don’t believe in yourself and all the color of this year is at your feet, gone. Before you a path, adventure, yet you focus on the roots, and the rocks, and the soil.
Bring your awareness to the green, the leaves yet to turn, the experiences yet to color your life, the future. As the squirrel gathers crab apples from the tree, finding just the right one and nibbling to it’s core. Knowing that it’s harvest. Knowing that more yellow and brown leaves will fall and the trees will soon be barren in frigid wind and short light.
Knowing.
It’s begun.
The colors curled and dry. The tourists hungry and driven to brighten their lives. The cool night air scented with fire pits and ions, calling them to inhale and gather their soup recipes.
Grounded Wisdom 