This morning, after what seemed to be an endless winter, I follow the dog out to the back deck. Coffee in hand, I bend to pick up twigs and leaves tossed there from yesterday’s stormy weather, gently lift the toppled tomato plant, given to me by my daughter for Mother’s Day, search for the trio of tiny green tomatoes, feel thankful they are still secure.
The dog sits sentry at the top of the stairs while I resist beginning the day. Instead, I’m invited to sit in a damp deck chair. Like I sometimes do in small cafes, I still my thoughts and allow myself to hear the various conversations happening around me. The birds are lively this morning!
Meditation has taught me to quiet my mind or at least let my thoughts ride the waves of consciousness in … and then out again. To not hold too close, to not grip with fear or question. This is a difficult concept and as hard as I try (maybe that’s the problem), nattering worry is a well-known companion.
Last night, I thought about my children (who all have children of their own) being out in the storm. My oldest granddaughter will have her license soon. Another worry in bad weather. I try to let it go, remember to breathe.
The birds respond to each other’s call and it makes me think how my mother ended almost every conversation with, “Be careful!” And I’d say, “Don’t worry.” And she’d say, “Don’t tell me not to worry.” This gene passed down from her mother to her and then, to me. And now at 60, my own children worry about how I am doing. And what do I say??
The three pots of lavender I have yet to plant look like they needed last night’s rain. They have grown inches since yesterday and the leaves on the trees around me, have turned a darker green. I haven’t looked out front yet, but imagine the columbine in bloom, all purples and pinks. Later, when the dog and I go look, yellows and grays and reds will descend on the feeder that hangs from the railing. The yellows will share the various perches, the reds will boast and preen, the woodpecker will toss them all aside and the squirrels (who cannot read the bold sticker that states – SQUIRREL-PROOF) will show off their acrobatic skills for a mouthful of black-oiled sunflower seeds to enjoy on their morning travels.
The sky is still gray, but blue cannot be far behind. The birds tell me this. And I say, “Thank you!” And they say, “You’re welcome.”