Short visit to place in time, place we often forget.
No clearer place or pace.
Being here amid when. And where, the why …
Raising family – having them come out whole. Miracle, pinnacle of all miracles.
Little tikes, yikes, never chose to be here, growing now, to be in charge of this planet before we know it.
Parents chose. Before them, grandparents chose. Their parents, grandparents too – each generation choosing mates, places, dates – their intentions, failures and foibles such that on each occupied rung on this ladder we stand, leaning against family trees, as apples fall, but not far.
Tiny sounds broke – long rest on heels of this week, that rush, the traffic – amazed, more and more, it happened … traveling, not distance, but years, few lessons as clear anywhere, any time, as here.
P.S.: I awoke in this land of ‘oh-my’ and ‘geee-whiz’; in other words, where grandchildren live – where moods rise and fall, from pure joy to tears, to feeding and frenetic fun, to laughter and pouting – multi-phases to each waking hour … much excitement in this house where Isla, birthday girl, readies herself for an afternoon party, her birthday, her fourth, while her brother Alex who, at two, seems unaffected by all that much of so much adoo …
written / published from Fort Saskatchewan, AB
morning walk: 0C/32F, clear, smoky/hazy (from northern Alberta wildfires), Gusta loved exploring the landscaped path between developed street and lotted out next-cell awaiting this season’s basement-digs, fresh smells and hazy horizon, fresh air of suburbia – the essence of life, children squealing nearby. Grandchildren. Mine. Oh lucky day …
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