Continuing On

I have found, to my surprise, that occasionally during a period of intense emotion, you get a day off. A day or two when it seems that an emotional pause or override button has been hit, and although the flood waters are still high, you don't feel like they will overwhelm you. Sadness remains a weight that you are aware of, and it will be your companion for a while, but you are allowed a brief time of rest and recovery from emotion. 

While this break is a relief, it will probably not extend to your brain. It will be functioning like an engine that needs a tune-up, like that meme that says 'my mind is like my internet browser,  at least 19 open tabs, 3 of them are frozen, and I have no clue where the music is coming from.' 

When I was still working outside the home, going to work and focusing on a task was helpful. I could close out everything else for a while. Well, except for the day that the respite home called and told me that they had lost my dad, but not to worry because they had alerted the police. That day I put my head down on my desk and bawled. 

There are plenty of tasks requiring my attention in the house and garden, but that might require a level of energy that I am not possessing at present. So for now my go-to diversion will be a walk in one of my many favorite places. The walking, and the active looking at my surroundings, seem to be able to corral my scattered thoughts in a more complete way than other tasks right now. 

In the last day or two of wandering, I have seen;

 an osprey enjoying the 'catch of the day', 

a groundhog and a turtle sharing the path,

Virginia Waterleaf in patches of white

and soft purple,

and shared the sideroad with a peacock out for a stroll.

I marveled at a tiny fern and 

this small Herb Robert growing out of little fissures in a limestone bluff which is a remnant of an ancient reef millions of years old. There is clearly a life lesson here in tenacity and survival in the midst of difficult conditions. 

I paused to admire the Ninebark in bloom,

wonder what these purple stars were,

and tried to remember whether these are gooseberries or currants. 

I rejoiced that the Bobolinks have returned to nest, 

to compliment Mother Cow on a handsome and healthy calf,

and admired a heron in the evening light on the pond.

I listened to the Yellow Warbler's song,

chuckled at this sparrow who was clearly quite comfortable despite the warning sign, 

and craned my neck to enjoy the vibrant colour of the oriole high above me.

And I was grateful for the shade of the path,

and the sun shining on the river,

and, like the myriad of tadpoles on the shoreline beneath the bridge, the multitude of opportunities to wonder, marvel and repair the tears in our souls.