Yet, this is all I need to see on this day. It's enough!
My adult child, her dog, a peaceful day in the garden.
I'm contented just to be witnessing this moment.
Here.
Now.
I know storms will arrive late in December and this garden will be battered, inundated, thrashed. Mush, debris, broken branches and soggy ground will prevent me from visiting this area for many months, erasing hope, burying all seeds of future joy and comfort.
I'm in rhythm with this life more than ever at this time in my life, knowing things change.
In the distance, storms are gathering. In the depths, continents are grating against each other. On any one of the 365 days, I could find myself battered too. I may find myself wishing for a bit of scampering in this garden of earthly delights, in this walled, wish-fulfilling garden.
It must be this consciousness, this temporal perception that helps us create and transcend the present, invent stories and legends, dream big dreams of a paradise with no pain, no wants.
It must also be what helps us design, plot and plunder anyone who has this paradise all the time.
Oh how fuzzy our lives can be.
Thank heavens, the calendar marches on.
