It is stunning this morning. Seventy degrees with a breeze you couldn't possibly buy, not with all the money in the world. But, no, it's there, suddenly, for our enjoyment, a deep, soft pleasure that rolls over your skin and touches you as if Elgar's Nimrod spilled over your aura and made you weep. This is my weather with its sheer pleasure of nearly-bare skin under starry dark skies, standing alongside a border collie who raises its nose to smell everything ever created. Windows are open, so I can hear the kitten, Iris, in the house roaming around, making racing noises. It's easy to see the silhouette of her practicing jumps in the air as she learns to become a lioness.
My BC picks up a million scents, but my sense of smell zones in on the honeysuckle. It's one of my top favorite scents, but I prefer it as a tribute on the wind. Any other way, and it loses its feel of nostalgia, the roadmap to all the feelings that wash over us as sensory experience gives way to back-in-time travel. I'm in the 1970s if just for a moment, summer in Missouri. The peonies are done for the season, but there is honeysuckle. The smell stays with me for life, soft and poignant, not really dulling with time.
Some mornings, our hearts are full. Sometimes they are sad; sometimes lonely. Other times, we're thrilled to be alive; then the hard days return, and we question everything. That's okay, too. We start out life full of a bright and hopeful light in front of us, saying "come on, it's this way!" and off we go. A million side roads later, and we find that the light that once led our way is now just a hair past our shoulders. We know that with the passing of time, the light will ask us to stop glancing at it over our shoulders and instead, turn to follow it down that final path. It needn't be scary, but it is important to smell all the honeysuckle we can while we can.
This morning is a true and beautiful gift for me. If it had come wrapped in a 14-karat gold ribbon, I wouldn't have been surprised. Never take beauty for granted, for if we ever do, we'll cease to recognize it in all its glory. Light and love to you, always.
2 comments:
Beautiful music...love your post too.
Nimrod is that classical piece that we never realized we needed until we hear it for the first time. Interestingly enough, it's an incredibly popular piece played at funerals. Not sure why, though, as the crescendo towards the end feels like life to me.
Post a Comment