I am one who believes in the pause. I inhale, pause, exhale, pause, and sometimes that pause can last a season.

Today, my eldest son is 38. I celebrate his birth, his coming into the world, and what that means to me. I go to Muir Woods and walk in past all people, to be alone with a creek and trees. I sit, feel the words holy, whole, and hole pierce through me. I stand and the sun lights me through trees. I wonder about sunlight through trees. Is there an extra noticing and appreciation, more awareness of how air is shared?

I am old enough now to qualify for a pass for elders. I pay $10.00 and can now enter any national park for the rest of my life. I show my driver’s license, which has a photo of me taken when I had long, blonde hair. “Beautiful tresses,” the man who takes my money and gives me my card, says. I say how different I am now, knowing I wouldn’t trade tresses for what I’ve learned and experienced in these last almost seven years for anything. Almost seven years, and still there is that tremble as the body remembers Fall, and celebrates Spring. Perhaps now the pause and seasons are in everything.

Advertisements