Autumn ๐Ÿ‚ ๐Ÿ ๐Ÿƒ of Hope

T’was the week-end of gifts. I had no idea how much I yearned for the promise of hope, till I felt the nimble feeling in my heart again.

I stepped out into the autumn ๐Ÿ‚๐Ÿ๐Ÿƒ day with the children after a bout of dancing in the kitchen. The day was beautiful. Overnight, the Earth seemed less harsher, with the summer heat replaced by a nippy feel in the air, and a blue, blue sky with wispy clouds lilting away their day. I bent every now and then picking up a autumnal bouquet of sorts. Yellow, maroon, red, greenish-yellow, yellowish brown, greenish-red, and everything in between.ย 

โ€œDonโ€™t you feel like dancing ๐Ÿ’ƒย  though?โ€ I asked the daughter, and she said firmly. โ€œNo! Not out here.โ€

โ€œOh – its okay!โ€ Said her little brother coming to my defense. โ€œEveryone knows she is a bit of a nature kook, it should be alright!โ€, and I laughed. My reputation was intact with the children.

The gingko trees were waving their golden green flags in the air – proudly proclaiming the daily joy of living to those who would stop and take a moment to take it all in. I stood there thinking, that the day is a wonderful one indeed if we have within us the power to pause and wonder,ย savor the simple act of Shoshin, andย marvel at the sheer audacity of life. Every night reminds us of the cosmic wonder that is our life. It affords us a peek into the darkness in which we float, the bleakness of it all, if there were no light. Yet, there is light, and more importantly, there is life!

โ€œRemember the gingko tree my dears?!โ€ย 

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โ€œYes! We do – we missed it last year, but if all the leaves donโ€™t fall at one shot, youโ€™re in for a rough time!โ€ Said the daughter, her voice ripe with indulgence.

I stuck my nose down the yellow lilliums on the path, came up with a nose of powdered pollen, and promptly wanted to sneeze.ย 

The children gave me pitying looks and the daughter said, โ€œLook at you! Like a little dog sniffing at flowers and raising that long beak of yours into the air!โ€

I had no idea dogs had beaks, but setting that aside, I said, “Behaving like a puppy?! What greater accolade could a mother get? I am a very happy puppy ๐Ÿถ indeed!” ย As soon as we came home, read out to the family in one rapturous gasp a poem written by Mary Oliver in the book, Dog Songs:

dog_song

Luke

I had a dog
who loved flowers.
Briskly she went
through the fields,

yet paused
for the honeysuckle
or the rose,
her dark head

and her wet nose
touching
the face
of every one

with its petals
of silk
with its fragrance
rising

into the air
where the bees,
their bodies
heavy with pollen

hoveredโ€”
and easily
she adored
every blossom

not in the serious
careful way
that we choose
this blossom or that blossomโ€”

the way we praise or donโ€™t praiseโ€”
the way we love
or donโ€™t loveโ€”
but the way

we long to beโ€”
that happy
in the heaven of earthโ€”
that wild, that loving.

Shortly afterward, I headed out on another walk. This time, because the day promised rain, and as the first droplets pattered down, I listened to the music of the heavens. How parched our dear Earth was, how bereft our souls without hope?

On the way back from another gorgeous walk, a rainbow ๐ŸŒˆ peeked out. Hesitantly at first, and then with pride, with conviction, the universe’s assurance of not just light, but light with wavelengths between 380 and 700 nanometers on the visible light spectrum.

That is Hope. Hope is Joy. Joy is Peace. Peace is Love.

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