Hopefully I will never settle into a state of contentment in life. Unless, of course, I’m housed in a mansion with a Jag gleaming black and wicked in the circular drive and a housekeeper who is willing to make the dinner whenever I really don’t feel like cooking.
It seems that as we get older, we often reinforce some personality traits (good or bad) while others may mellow a bit. Sometimes we even change completely in our ways and get adamantly vocal and insistent in certain areas. I find myself more focused and aligned on political or society issues. My neighbor has become more demanding on personal service. Like yeah, you’re going to tell the cable guys that they must be there within twenty-four hours when you have service but sometimes your modem needs recycling to connect.
There also seems to be an appreciation for the things we’ve learned to take for granted. Like rain and green grass. This morning woke up with the gentlest cool breeze and a slight mist hung in the dawn after a night of running around opening and closing windows to let in air, shut out rain. I checked the garden to see if it would still need watering after last night. It didn’t, but I was overcome with beauty, order, life.
There is a sense of nature stronger in the bluer early morning than when the sun’s yellow light tinges all with a universally warm glow. Each color seems to stand out on its own in a non-competitive display. Like seeing all the pixels in a picture.
Then there’s what we leave behind that doesn’t scream but mellows into a tangle of memories. Like the old garden, now gone to weeds and flowers that pop up everywhere they find a spot to sink their roots. I wish sometimes we were a bit more like nature, but the human part intervenes. Torn between instinct and discretion, urge and wisdom. I suppose there’s something too in that.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology