it’s golden in the tree tops
it’s golden in the skies
it’s golden, golden, golden
october’s passing by
(adapted from wynstones autumn)
after days of grey skies and rain
the sun finally broke through again today.
as i was driving down our road i noticed how the tree tops really are golden now,
when the bright fall sun is shedding her golden rays upon them.
how the verse we have been saying about the golden tree tops and golden skies
suddenly becomes more then a verse
when you are living it.
and i realized, in that moment as i drove along,
that the verse echoing silently in my own mind and heart
was coming to life for me.
and that it brings nothing for them when it is not alive inside me to begin with.
i am emerging here from more grayness than just the rain over the last days.
a healthy cocktail of large and small life stressors seemed to pile upon each other in my mind and heart recently until two nights ago i stood over the broccoli soup pot at 9 o’clock at night scrubbing and crying. tears of fear, loneliness, and worry.
it is funny – no matter how good life gets there are still those moments of despair. moments of sinking into feeling so deeply alone that there really is nothing left to do but cry. to cry and cry until you are done crying (and then pick up the phone and call your friend.)
since that moment i have asked for and received the help and support i needed to inch my way out of that little dark spot and into a place of hope and spacious light.
the golden golden golden on the drive home was searing its way into my very core and spreading back out like a reflection of my own emotional and spiritual shifting.
we made rice milk today.
it was the bean’s idea.
i resisted it heavily when he first brought it up at 8am as the best way to resolve the dire situation of being out of rice milk (his only beverage).
i fought back.
then i gave in.
eventually i got into it.
we found a recipe. we measured and cooked. we worked on it throughout the day together. blending, straining, straining, and finally pouring the finished product into glass jars. we made labels together and he stocked two jars into the upstairs fridge and three into the downstairs fridge.
he had looked at the first label i made,
and he asked to make his own:
“r i c e m i l e
1 0 – 20 – 1 1 ”
he brought it to me and worried, “i couldn’t make the letter here,” while pointing to the k in milk.
“it looks beautiful to me,” i said. “i can read this.”
several minutes passed. he looked again at the jar with his label on it.
“if a real person was here could they know what mine said?”
maybe this is homeschooling. measuring, cooking safety, creating something from scratch, copying mama’s letters as you make your own label. wondering if your letters are real.
eventually the rice milk was cool enough to try.
he hated it.
“it tastes like there is rice in it!”
my schooling is in the art of letting go i suppose.
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