Today, my son gave me his power-of-attorney document, required for his semester abroad.
Today, my daughter excused me from attending her last Prom photo shoot of high school.
Today, I stood next to Salt Creek and watched a man lift an ancient buffalo skull from the grassy embankment.
Talk about circle of life.
There are times when I want to slow time down, to bend the arc of that circle of life just a bit. And then, there are times when it bends all on its own. For me, those times of slowing usually happen when I'm outside, either figuratively or literally.
I longed for a "pause" button last July when I was happily knee deep in mucky water at Spring Creek Prairie , knowing full well that I would not get out without falling. And I felt it this afternoon as I watched Allison and her friend Kamaya walk across the street in their too-tall shoes and too-short dresses, their bodies long and full, their lives verging on self possession.
What is that feeling that is made of both longing and joy? How do I explain the single note of a song that washes over and moves me? I think my friend Jen would say that it is evidence of a thin place, where the ordinary and sacred meet up for a moment.
Thinking of Eric on his own in Sweden, of Allison navigating the social swirl of a high-school dance, of the bones of an animal that sat down for one last time a hundred years ago? These are times when I feel both close and far away, connected and stretched.
I have a feeling that the year ahead of me will be a year of thin places, a swirl of time compressing and stretching itself out before me. And, strange as it may be at times, I'd like to think I'm up to the task of living it.
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