Perspective

My daughter attacks a blank canvas with vigor. She does not stall or gaze at it with indecision. She takes a brush, goops the paint on and creates beauty almost instantaneously. Today she made a purple mouse that sang at a concert. Then a blue and purple pumpkin for Christmas, stating that she liked pumpkins better than the traditional wreath I was painting.

I’d like to think that I think outside the box. That I’m some free spirit living my imagination rather than just thinking it. But I’m not quite sure that’s the case. This time of year can make many turn inward and remember what it was like to be a child. Standing small in front of a marvelous Christmas tree….with all it’s wonder and cheer. When I was young I would squeal with excitement when my Dad would truck in the cardboard boxes of Christmas decorations. The boxes themselves were nothing to boast about, torn and old. They were once used for firewood or grocery shipments but to me they carried inside the most precious of treasures a little girl could delight in. I’d often sit on the couch and gaze over at our tree. Although I didn’t know it then, it was a small tree but my mother would trim it in such a way that your eye would rarely be able to see towards the inside. Glass ornaments, a strawberry shortcake figure. . .  classic homemade ornaments that hung, illuminating the memories of the moments spent making them.

Perhaps because I didn’t have much else to do or places to go, I was able to enjoy it so much. A child can be in a big hurry to simply be a with a friend. Or look at a squirrel that was scurrying about their picnic. Since I’ve been a mother it’s opened my heart up more to stop for that which is around me. We’re reminded to do this a lot within our culture whether it’s from a hallmark card or an endearing movie. The message is given often but who has time to follow through?

A few days ago I took my dog for a walk. Seeing how dogs don’t care that it’s 15 degrees outside at six o’clock in the morning, off we went. I always look forward to the end of our venture when we round the corner and head back towards our street because that’s the moment when I see it. Towering above in all it’s brilliance of early winter. There stand the mountains of the Front Range. I used to look at them with self pity for I thought it unfair that they were there teasing me, calling my name when I couldn’t answer. But now, I see them for what they are. Their peaks have been powdered with snow for a month now and I think it was the chill in the air that created a sort of solidarity with me. Maybe because it was early morning and I felt as if I had the view all to myself or perhaps because that particular day in that particular moment, I was listening. Allowing myself to just BE. There’s a small window of time that photographers wait for. When the morning sun shines in just a way that it makes even the simplest of subjects, brilliant. This was such a moment and Oh what a beautiful sight I saw! It does something for my soul that I can never explain.

Cars then began to rush by us, passing my dog and I with indifference. I wondered if they saw it too. Were they too busy? I’ll never know.

As we slowly walked back up our street there were five or six crows flying in a circle. I knew what it meant to see so many black birds in one place and I looked about to see where their potential meal might be. There on the grass lay a bird… fallen. How sobering it was to witness a reminder that life is temporary. And we make our choices each day to enjoy it or not.

When I got back home I stripped off my down jacket, boots, gloves and everything else I had layered to keep my limbs from falling off. I noticed that all was quiet and still. I could have started breakfast or emptied the dishwasher in my usual morning routine but I took advantage of the sleeping house and later when my kids came plopping down the stairs they saw me there... sitting on the couch much like I did as a girl gazing at our brightly lit Christmas tree. They charged me, jumping on my lap and asked what I was doing. I said “just looking”. My daughter  replied “Mommy, it’s so big!”. Funny thing is, that morning our tree looked just a little bit bigger to me and I had to agree.