For every action, there is a reaction.
For every shutdown--doors slammed closed simply to make a point--there is an unsuspecting everyman who pays a great price.
For every moment--planned and unplanned--there is memory, tinged with hope and regret.
For every move my daughter makes to place herself closer to the future, I hold my breath, catching a glimpse of friends and school ties, teams and teachers fuzzying around the edges of her recent past.
For every day I check off of the calendar, I hold tight not to rue a future much different than this very moment. A future with a son stretched and set across oceans--competent and able, but a son, nonetheless. Ruing a time without children and their polyblend leavings cluttering up the floors.
For every action--however bold and beautiful--re-action is more exhausting still. I do not care to live in response to this life, but rather as a partner with it. Hand in hand, albeit dragging my feet a bit, at times.
And so, let me nudge my children to the door today, knowing that the tomato-horn caterpillar, the naked cicada burrowing deep into the earth, the cardinal fledgling teetering on the feeder--that all of these things hold greater promise still, stories buried deep within them that need time and patience, warmth and freedom to break loose.
Let me not get in the way of this wildly spinning earth, its grey-blue systems humming in place, creatures acting and reacting in cosmic union, as the plan writes itself onto the winds.
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