This morning I enjoy a back and forth exchange with an old friend on being aware of “counting down”. We are of an age and there is a desire to convey some wisdom from our age, and in that, there is trust in how we imprint on the wind. There’s nothing for me to do. I’ve lived a good life and I trust that, and now there is a need or desire to release and be.
Moles and gophers are busy in one section of my yard these days. It’s unused, left natural for the critters who live in the area, but a neighbor’s cat loves sitting next to opportunity ready to pounce when a bright-eyed creature pops out of a hole.
My cats have never been hunters. One even came to me when a bird flew wounded into the house and was lying winded on the floor. We watched together until he or she was able to mobilize and fly back out.
I feel such peace today and perhaps it’s because of the beauty of Mother’s Day and all the love that came my way, and the way of others I know and cherish, and all of us are mothers, mothers to ourselves, and this world we share.
I see this pause to shelter-in-place as an opportunity to go within, and slip underground like the moles, gophers, worms, and voles, and consider how we aerate the earth with our ability to ingest, chew, digest, and pour out our own intestinal touch. Like the starfish, the sea star, we can expel our stomachs to feast, take in and release, over and over again.