Coming Home

The leaves have formed this beautifully vibrant carpet on which the lightest feather dusting of snow sits. The seasons are perfectly aligned, this morning the first hints of two seasons intersecting is easily evidenced. One is just at the vestiges of completion while another is beginning to unwind and awaken from its dormant slumber.

As I begin my run this morning I realize I've overdressed, over calculated and will be stiflingly hot soon. I can easily turn back and take off a few layers, however I know that the need to run, to expend this pent-up frustration and sorrow that is at my core will not happen without my continuing forward.

Life is like that, either you move forward or you get left behind. I either continue running, dealing with the oven that my body will become or I go back into the jail that my home has become. I prefer the oven of freedom.

My step falters, it slows. I notice, they haven't left yet, the ducks are still here. I see the babies, they pointedly ignore me. I watch them and marvel at the level of freedom and joy just observing nature and wildlife brings to my inner self. I pick up the pace, I'm running once again.

I start pondering the scene which I just observed; can life really be so simple? Why then as humans, do we complicate matters so much? Why is it that even when something ends in my life, I can't seem to pick up and move on. To the casual observer I'm a productive member of society, but internally there exists a black hole of thoughts, emotions and raw power that seems to overtake me with a unrelenting chokehold. Sometimes, it is so strong that all I can do is to sit back and simple hang on as the vestiges of wave after wave of this all-consuming emotion rips through me.

I see a small child bending down to pick up something in a backyard. Without conscious thought, my step slows. I'm now half a block away and he's sat down and is enthralled with something that is enveloped in his chubby hands. I stand there fascinated; transfixed by his ease and utter concentration on whatever it is that’s got him so focused. Memories flood my mind, images which are woven so deeply into my soul that they come up unbidden. Just the slightest hint of something can open the floodgates. It's cold and yet even bundled up, I can make out his features clearly. He realizes that someone is watching and looks up. Suddenly, with the innocence of only the very young, he reaches out his hand towards me. I can't move. My eyes follow from observing the sun glinting off his charcoal black hair, down his ruddy complexion, to the outstretched hand. There isn't anything in that palm, its open and the fingers are stretched out waiting for me to come take hold. I look back at his face as I feel my legs propelling my body forward.

"Stop" I say to myself. This isn't a good idea, to go unwelcomed to another woman's home.

And yet, I cannot help myself.

His face is patient, welcoming, happy to have found someone to share the outdoors with him. I'm by the bushes, the ones which barely graze my knees that outline the backyard that is his mother's property. I hear her, she's somewhere inside, my brain registers that, however, my actions and senses are focused on this boy. I reach out to touch him, to grasp those chubby fingers. To envelop him in my arms and smell the mixture of love, baby and outdoors that is a sense of coming home.

My eyes close, the tears slide slowly and silently down my face, I breathe deeply and feel my heart open. I smile slowly and finally feel at peace.