OR so sang the singer last week at the substitute chai latte shop there in the Square. The rain was drizzling as it had done for so many days; sleepy commuters and workers were lining up for a morning brew. It all seems a bit far away now as we pull into Salem station this Monday morning: those on the platform are standing three deep. But hearing that tune provided a moment of warmth, and leaning just a little into the counterspace as I waited for my brew provides some lift into the wet wings.
Happily this week will offer much more sunshine. Besides full of rain and cold last week was the first after our return from a long trip made to say a final goodbye, in death, to a close family member. Many opportunities presented themselves in which we could choose to lean on those around us, and we did. In many ways, this mutual dependency extends here, at home, amongst those in whom we put our trust, whether stranger or friend. Surely it’s good to remember this.
We live in a tumultuous time. On bad days we feel the truth there is no guarantee we will be here tomorrow to do the work in front of us to do. On good days we long to seize the moments in which we find joy and purpose. Yesterday’s small fire to burn the first of the season’s brush was an example: tea in hand, snacks on the table, clear sky above and the garden mess reduced to a clean pile of ash. Part of the charm is the simplicity; the moment both made and given on which to reflect: have we important work to finish and love to give and, if so, are we getting on with doing it?
Spring is upon us and we long to, and soon will, leave all the trappings of winter behind. May the fresh coming of life lead us forward into comfort and peace. We all could probably use, and give, much more of both. Like the night heron I see fishing out my train window, I guess we better get going.