An April Morning’s Musings

For once, my mind has ceased to race. There is a quietness about my soul I cannot adequately describe to one who has never sat in silence. It is a calm I am quick to stifle and slow to absorb, yet once accepted is the lifeline to everything good in me. After two months of being limited by crutches, due to a badly fractured ankle, I am beginning to learn to tap into this wellspring.

Some context: I am scheduled to have surgery in a few days, so I’ve returned to my parents’ home in the New York countryside for assistance and recovery. Here, I am demanded to sit down, rest, sleep, and other stationary tasks that I ought to welcome with open arms; yet surprisingly they trigger every bit of stubborn resistance within me.

Today, it took me at least half an hour of sitting on my bed–resisting the urge to check every social media account I own for the fifth time this morning–before I was able to connect with the quiet. I looked out my window at the beautiful yard and let my mind go blank.

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I won’t post a picture; you have to picture it. Picture a pond, rippled with white flower petals that gracefully fall from a tree overhead like snowflakes. The sunlight ebbs and flows as clouds tiptoe past its maker, warming every blade of grass and newborn leaf, clad in the vibrant green of early Spring. Yet somehow, the air is visibly nippy from Winter’s remains.

There are no signs of industrial life, save the occasional far off motorcycle, rumbling over hills of untouched nature, or sometimes a plane overhead to remind us how small we are. The sky is sprinkled with delicately chirping sparrows, doves and goldfinches: sprites who sporadically dart into my window’s frame and just as quickly out.

The rich red arms of a Japanese maple tree strain over the water’s surface to carefully whisper “hello!” in the ear of purple lily pads. Like a child at a cocktail party it stands out of place, dwarfed below its towering relatives, whose lofty tops lean and bend to the winds that move them, in groans or shakes of laughter.

Had I seen this world of mine an hour ago, so familiar yet ever new? Did it captivate me so? I’m afraid not. I’m afraid it seldom does; yet it always has the ability to.

This blog post has no agenda. I am not promoting my services, showing off my work or shouting an opinion at the world. I simply wish to share a precious moment with my fellow human beings in hopes that you too might disconnect just long enough to connect with the quiet around you.

MusingsRebecca Loomis