A friend gave me twenty-six seashells. Each is beautiful, complex, and unique. They are unexpected gifts found in unexpected places to be received, treasured and shared. The twenty-fifth shell.
I went for a walk in the cemetery today. That’s where I usually end up when I step out the door with a mind toward wandering the neighborhood to pound some of my scattered clamor of thoughts into the pavement.
There was a chilly wind.
The sun was starting its descent.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped pushing against the wind and started to walk with it. Not in the wind’s direction, but in my own…with less resistance to the push and chill of the wind.
Less occupied with keeping myself away from the wind, my mind was free to let a lot of its clamor blow away. The feel of the wind whipping at my sweatshirt and the sound of my walking shoes thumping on the pavement…these slowly came to own my thoughts. Those thoughts eventually gave way to remembrance.
Then simple revelation.
A good many of the formative moments in my memory are somehow touched by two things: walking and light (or the lack of it…or its movement). When I attempt a description of these moments, my memory finds rest in the sound of my feet on the pavement and the surrounding light.
Strange noticing this. And I can’t say exactly why.
Walking and light. Movement and sight.
For these I am thankful.