My walk today was slow. --Not much on the "exercise" scale, but wonderful in terms of taking in what was around me. Just before the sun breaks over the eastern smiley face hill the sky is aglow with a diffused brightness. Today there was a crispness to the air as well; bits of frost winked at me from the railroad ties I was treading. Far off I hear a cow mourning for her calf and the hills echo with her cry. I too am alone and childless -- for this moment. There was a little one I lost before the others were born. A very little one. But a loss still the same. Sometimes I wonder.... Just like I often wonder about my little sister Jennifer who only lived one day. She supposedly looked just like me and she was supposed to be my friend. Sometimes I still wonder... and I talk to her all the same.
I wonder if we, too, are on the brink of dawn. We're bathed in a muffled glow, but soon: the light will be so brilliant, so shocking, that all is sillouetted before it and none can stand or gaze directly into the source. Not yet. Our eyes are not ready. More veils must fall before we can gaze deeper into the tapestry and trace the pattern of intent.
When I return home Weston is at the window making stories with Seal and Brown Bear. He's caught in a similar glow. His day is just beginning and a whole new creation story is beginning. One that I'm sure Aunt Jennifer is looking down on and smiling at from the other side of the dawn.
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