Say It With Me, Timing...

Dear Maria,

A little melancholy this morning, but even that phrasing is too strong. Absurd, too, having spent a quiet half-hour on the patio. The lantana and roses have bloomed with great vigor, and even the mums I stomped into high grass last year have flowered. Too beautiful to feel anything less than delighted to be alive.

Caught up yesterday with a great friend after a year’s absence—impossible to be that long, and yet so quick in its passing. Remains a matter that perplexes me, how time’s arrow speeds on its course while I am only barely getting around to stringing the bow.

While I got after a sausage and peppers sub at the neighborhood Italian place, her good-natured grilling about how my life was going kept me reassessing the past two years. She, too, shared the twists and turns of her year, and I think we both agreed that a stretch of calm was very welcomed. That letting the universe come to me thing.

Hard to see the rapids for the rapids sometimes. A look back from a flat stretch, a needed vantage to understand how much has been withstood and to provide a respite. Of course, a little rest and back into the rapids. There will always be rapids.

So much of life strikes me as timing—yes yes, timing is everything, or so I have heard, too—but at any given moment with others, catching them where they are and where you are is the X factor. Even as simple as one person having a good day when you are not, or the other way around.

Or changing your mind about sharing what’s on your mind or in your heart. To speak or not to speak. To plunge forward or restrain yourself for a day, a week—forever. We are all in our moments that lead us forward into this future or that future. Blindly. There’s a rub.

Today, I am setting up a bluebird house for a friend. Coincidentally, yesterday afternoon as I stood out on the patio, taking in the scene, a young male bluebird came from over my left shoulder, dipped down to eye level, and then did a power climb nearly straight up 20’, all the while his back to the sun.

The color of his feathers does not exist in the world except for the sky when it is perfect. And then he was joined by another whose coloring matched his. Impossible. While they swooped and circled about the trees, an older male settled on the bluebird condo. A good scene.

Melancholy? Absurd.

May all be well for you and yours,

Always, srk