The vista would be desolate were it not for the expectation of the bright colors of new life, sure to burst through the earth with the near-by arrival of spring. If I could stand in her spot I would release my churning mind to the far reaches of the visible heavens to be diluted in the atmosphere of an unending sky.
Through the window by my desk I look down on city traffic and people rushing to catch passing trolley cars. However, when the wind is right, I taste salt in the air and imagine the bone chilling cold of the Atlantic Ocean two miles to the East. I envision the stretch of sand where I stand from time to time at the gate of life's essence, wanting to know the significance of this single, minute, particle of a soul.
Patients and care givers alike, endure an intense uncertainty. The latter bear an added layer, more profound, traumatic and unnerving, I think, for the looming prospect of moving forward alone.
"No matter where my life takes me in the future this will be my farm shawl," said the Lady, acknowledging commitments made and kept, and the constancy of her own construction.
The warmth of the wool honors its place in the moment and carries forward the luminous dust of indelible dreams.