This morning, as I walked Bonnie around the house, I saw a little piece of the sun had fallen down to earth. It’s February, and my crocuses are blooming—bright yellow petals winking in the morning dew. We’ve had an unusually warm and wet patch of weather these past few weeks, but I’ve lived here long enough not to be fooled. The birds, however, appear to be falling for nature’s trickery. Everywhere I turn the sky is full of robin-song and sparrow-music. Yesterday I peeked in my bluebird box and, sure enough, the beginnings of a nest were tucked inside. When Jeff and I walked down Sleepy Hollow road, we saw an American Kestrel falcon perched on the powerlines. As we drew near, that beauty took flight, circling slowly over the meadow that hugged the roadway. She was so free in her flight, she took my breath.
I’ve been savoring my days off, taking the moments slow. Today, I re-read most of Susan Goldsmith Wooldridge’s poemcrazy: freeing your life with words. At the end of chapter 2, under the practice section, the author encourages the reader to buy a journal and keep it with them. “It’s never too late to start,” she says. “Don’t try to catch up by going back in your life. Start with now.”
Something about those last three words made my throat catch a little. “Start with now.” It sounds so simple, I mean, where else can I start except now? But so many days I feel like I’m trying and trying and trying … struggling to make up for all that I’ve missed—all the regret that comes with the late blooming. And then I see an early-blooming crocus and the round headed silhouette of a falcon and I know deep inside of me: now is the only moment we really have.
Instead of regret, today I let that thought comfort me. Today, I let myself be fully present in this moment and as I do, I can feel the wings of my heart stretch wide.
Wide for the soaring flight.