With the unexpected advent of Rupert, I found myself thinking about all the other entrances to and exits from my life. The only constant is that they happen and, with few exceptions, they happen unexpectedly.
Some enter as a soft rain which starts almost unnoticed and ends just as indistinctly but, in another sense, has endured in the grass and flowers it nurtures. Others enter as a driving hail storm that flattens everything it hits and then abruptly moves on. Still others are the sunshine of a spring morning, gently warming and lighting for a time. While there are those that are the moon, variable in strength but constantly there.
The past several years have been primarily about exits. Most notable have been those strong storms that have uprooted large swaths of my forest, large trees and small shrubs both. There have also been sandcastles washed away by the tide and spiritual rocks that have been overturned by the waves. All followed by a blank landscape and fields left fallow.
There have been frantic attempts to sow new, generally inferior, seeds with disappointing yields. There have been endless months watching and hoping for new growth only to have the seeds wash away before they could take root. And there has been a seemingly endless feeling of being trapped in a bog.
And yet, the rabbit has brought a new awareness of the landscape. There have been new entrances in my life, like mist which can be sensed more than felt. They came in quietly, gently and unnoticed during prevailing storms; deepening to something more substantial with time. There have been surprising reentries, which raise an awareness of the turn of the seasons; returning every year the same and yet different. The worst of the storms have passed and, like crocuses in late winter, new connections and fulfillment are slowly poking up. And all of these have given me an inkling that more change is afoot. Invigorating coolness has replaced harsh sun and heat. Violent storms make way for fertile rest. And perhaps, someday, the fog of loneliness that weaves through the forest of my life will be dispelled by the gentle breeze of love.
Teacher Voices: Stewart Matthews - Here's another post in my continuing series on teacher voices. I'm interviewing some of my former students who have gone on to become teachers. In this po...
5 days ago