The Longest Walk

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

She rose with the sun, her brow still damp with the essence of dream. Soon enough her feet were, too, from dew and from the small drops of silence that mornings bring.

There was little to say, and much space to accompany.

It was a good day.

It had to be.

There will be time much later on, for all the things she might still need, and all the words she may still say, and all the sorrows she no longer wished to borrow.

In the meanwhile, she walked on, crushing dandelions, breathing lavender.

The fields stretched ahead as the disc of light leaned hot against the sky. The air shimmered, dancing in the sun.

Or wavering.

It would not matter, in the long run.

She walked on.

Eventually she’d have to turn around, retrace her steps, return into the pace of tending, bending, sending, lending, fending.

And it would still be a good day.

For the dawn poured the generous morn into her, washing her, filling her, scenting her soul. Step by breath by step by breath, immersed into the longest walk her present moment could recall.

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto

 

 

Her Reflection

silver-1 SueVincent

Photo: Sue Vincent

 

She walks along the dunes. There had been very little time away from others. So very few opportunities to be alone. She needs this more than air.

Morris agreed to keep an eye on the children. They were not enthused.

“He’s boring, Mama!” Ethan complained.

“Yeah, and his breath smells!” Lilly pouted.

“You don’t have to kiss him,” she replied. “And if you are bored, I can leave you some chores.”

They skulked away, displeased, but there was nothing for it, grumpy neighbor-as-babysitter or not. She knew she was becoming increasingly impatient. She did not want to cross the line into unkind.

It wasn’t their fault that Paul left. It wasn’t their doing that their dad did not see fit to shoulder any responsibility. She knew they missed him. He didn’t even think of calling on their birthdays. She knew Ethan cried for his dad in his sleep.

She almost took them with her to the dunes. Almost made it a family outing. Lilly loved running in the sand. Ethan’s eyes always lit up at the space. Like her, he loved the breeze and silence.

But she could not. Not this time.

This time she needed to replenish. For herself. For them. They needed a sane mother. She was running low on how.

 

She walks and breathes and ruminates and lets the worries and the sorrows stream out and flow down her cheeks and neck and chest till they evaporate.

There was a time she had hoped to have a house on the dunes. There was a time she had a dream of living in the solitary calm of gulls and tides and estuaries.

It wasn’t that she regretted having the children (marriage was a whole other story, given what non-partner Paul turned to be). She did not. Not once. She couldn’t imagine her life without them. Just for this morning, though … she needed to let be a part of herself that did not have them in its center.

She walks as if in daydream. The light shimmers and the estuary glints silver in the shrinking distance. It gives her peace. A reminder of how every stagnant-looking pool may in fact be only a pause in flow.

 

 

For Sue Vincent’s WritePhoto challenge

 

 

Delicate Rest

ButterflyRest R.RZ

Photo: R. RZ

 

Take a moment

To rest

Ere you once more

Take flight.

Let the weariest

Parts

Lean their weight

With foresight,

For the breath

That will come

Delicate

In the light.

 

 

For the Tuesday Photo Challenge: Rest

 

 

Have Your Say

WriteTime NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

Make time to write.

A moment. A minute. An hour. A day.

Whatever you can find.

Make it yours.

Have your say.

 

 

 

May We Be the Adults Kids Need

The link below is to an article by Dawn Haney (thank you, Jenny, for sending it to me). It is very well done and immensely relevant.

Take a moment to read it, and perhaps a few more to allow your realities and reactions to have the room they require and deserve. If you are so inclined, leave a comment below and share your thoughts about the article, of the things you’ve found to be helpful, and the realities of balancing activism with self-care.

In these times of rampant overwhelm and maddening injustice — especially if you carry your own wounds and trauma history — may you find the support you need, the awareness you seek, and the way to provide aid to the vulnerable in the pace and manner you can manage.

And may we all, indeed, be the adults kids need.

May We Be the Adults Kids Need: Healing practices to avoid burnout

From the article. Photo by Brooke Anderson.

 

Ocean Ohm

ocean breath NaamaYehuda

Photo: Na’ama Yehuda

 

As the world tilts between breath

And release,

As the sea ebbs and flows

Into peace,

I remember my core

The heartbeat

Of my soul,

Batteries filled again

Making my spirit

Whole.

 

 

For Cee’s Share Your World

 

 

Let Laughter

delight in a box

Photo: Dvora Freedman

 

Let laughter

Ripple through you

Like ribbons

Of joy.

Let it fill you

With mirth.

Let it buoy you

Aloft

When the world

Tilts ahoy.

 

 

For The Daily Post

In a Flap?

no trespassing

Photo: Atara Katz

 

If the world’s feverish frenzies

Get you all bothered

And frantically het up,

Take a breath

Form a pause

Find a foothold to grasp,

Nothing good ever came

From fluttering in a flap.

 

 

For The Daily Post

Inefficiently So

row your boat OsnatHalperinBarlev

Photo: Osnat Halperin-Barlev

 

There is magic in finding

Some moments so slow

That life trickles along

In a lazy brook’s glow,

Like a pause in between

Busy ebb, bustling flow

A delicious respite

Into half-idle row

Caring naught though you know

If you come or you go

Inefficiently so.

 

 

For The Daily Post