Moments stacked on moments is all we get
Moments stacked on moments is all we get. Best to be there when they happen.
Planting our garlic with the “help” of an ox-strong daughter who has the unfortunate propensity to drop everything the moment her barn kitties find her. A posse of social turkeys mingle, including a couple of toms looking for a little admiration for their fancy shows of plumage prowess. Our consummate professional border collie herding said turkeys, or thinking he is. Cattle eating hay and randomly coming over to bellow for an apple or two, to which I dutifully oblige. My husband banging away at the almost-done spiffy new and improved cow shelter. And, of course, our anchor – Ms. Luna our thirteen year old Newfie snoring in a sunbeam as she starts to fade into the twilight years of her life.
Just a little mundane moment – the ones I try to pay the most attention to. The types that layer one on top of the other. Easy to go unseen.
Maybe it’s my age. Maybe it’s watching the young women we raised now out in the world, creating and living their own lives. I don’t know. But my focus on the filaments of my life fills me with such overwhelming gratitude for the beauty of our existence that I can do little more than witness the weight of my overflowing heart.
I mean, a little orange cat scooped up in the arms of our youngest daughter. The delight on her face. The way she clenches her teeth when she thinks something is “just so squishable”. I can see it and hold it or I can be somewhere else in my brain and let it all disappear into the ether.
Maybe it’s the greatest gift of living with death all around us. I can’t pretend it’s not going to happen. To me. To her. To every single person I love. We’re all on our way out. What a gift to seat our hearts in this truth. To fully live and admire, to be vulnerable enough to allow astonishment to override cynicism.
It’s just all so bloody beautiful. Allow yourself to feel it all. Every last crumb, gathered and kept so we can all meet our ends with bulging pockets.