What I love most about these recent days are the sunrises. In general, these Texas skies have been breathtaking at all times of the day. But, the sunrises, oh my, stop me in my tired and frantic tracks. They are the calm on our busy mornings as we work to rush out the door. Noticing the sunrise quietens my distracted mind, allows me a minute to focus on my breath, to savor the soft pale hues penetrating through the dark and bare limbs of the trees that stand tall along the field across the street. Witnessing the pale pinks, grays, and blues transcend into the horizon, against these bare and naked trees, is my moment ~ my moment to let go of the worries from the day before and of the day to come, to let them go ever so briefly, and to breathe in this short moment of natural beauty. Every day is a new day. Another gift.
Yesterday, Bea and I took a walk to the river. Empty handed. No phone, no wallet, no camera. It was a crisp, breezy January day. The pewter colored trees stood in bright contrast to the perfect blue sky. It felt more like the first of spring days than the middle of winter with the clover and dandelion thick and green at our feet. We held hands along the pathway. She and I. Then she would run ahead of me, getting off the path and into the green grass to admire little purple flowers. Every several strides, she would quickly stop at the sight a single, perfect dandelion. There she would squat, kneel down, and admire these delicate first flowers. And as you can imagine, a few were picked: for myself and daddy, her school friends Jane and Lucy, her Granny, and her Nana and Papa. All of her loves. She looked so little and innocent with the wind blowing through her hair, surrounded by the emerald, damp grasses. I hoped for a second to always remember her this way: with her exuberant joy and happiness at the sight of a dandelion - a dandelion. She was every bit a small precious child in total wonder with the world and so entirely in the moment.
Then we walked some more. We noticed our shadows following right along side of us - mine was tall and hers was short. She and I. She would run a bit to see if her shadow would chase her and she giggled when she realized that it was.
She discovered a low spot in the grass which had some standing water from the rains that came earlier in the week. She pitched a pepple into the small pond. If I would've let her, she would've splashed and splashed, submerging her feet and ankles into the pond, and squooshing her toes into the mud. This time, I had to stop her because it was cold and she wasn't wearing boots.
We continued to walk until we reached the bark park. We met a few sweet dogs and their owners. We got to talking about homeschooling, home day care settings, the local elementary school, and an old neighborhood cemetary which I didn't know existed but I am now looking forward to exploring. Bea didn't want to leave. She could've played with the pups all day. After a little convincing, we were on our way to the river.
A five minute walk can turn into an hour's walk with a preschooler in tow.
The river was flowing and glistening with the light of the sun reflecting into it. The ducks and geese were out and about, swimming about this way and that. We crossed the foot bridge over the river and made our way to a little stone penisula that juts out into the water. We tossed rocks and sat mostly quiet. We noticed birds swooping and some singing. We listened to the Sycamore leaves blow in the breeze.
It was a sweet morning. Quite nice to just "be" with her ~ with nothing in particular to do but to toss some pepples into the river and to stand in amazement of dandelions. I like that. It's my kind of adventure.
