seasons

I stole a moment of beauty at the end of the work day. As I walked up the stairs of my house, I paused and, instead of continuing on with the business of the evening, I stood to watch the sunset. It occurred to me that I have not really documented a sunset lately. Guess I’ve been more inclined to posts about activity than to posts about reflection. But that is no indication of the amount of reflection I’ve been indulging in. No matter how much we fill our days with teaching, meeting, socializing, and the like, there is an aspect to compound life that is a bit inescapable, for me at least: when we are on lock-down, for extended periods of time, a sort of melancholy grows in spite of the will to keep spirits up. The melancholy of limited perspective. The melancholy of a vision that is drawn inwards, to smaller scopes and dimmer sights. The melancholy of future uncertainties.
But this sort of experience is creating in my a deeper awareness of the sorts of things that sooth my spirit.
Speaking lines from favorite poems or songs to myself. I found myself quoting A.A. Milne’s “Buttercup Days” to a high schooler in the library the other day, for instance.
Remembering favorite places and people from my past. Even describing my favourite autumn weather is comforting to me now, as I miss that season.
And of course, watching the setting sun. As I watched this one, I realized that the speck I first mistook for a bird was, in fact, a kite. Yes, the kites I tend to photograph when suspended do soar freely through the air as well. Time for both. Time for everything.