Footprints

The other day, I was struck by a photograph, taken by a friend of mine. It was an immaculate photo. Immediately I had to write something. This is what came out....Thank you to my talented friend for inspiring me to write this.

Where is the true beauty in the moment of life? Is it found in perfection? Can it be found in the mimicry of life through art? Can it be bottled up? Stored away for another day, another time? Does it offend us? Make us laugh? Make us cry? Where does true beauty come from, where does it go?

The footprints lead to nowhere and to somewhere all at the same time. The prints left are soon washed by the salt water, washed clean away. The sun beams down making slits through the clouds, lighting up the water with diamonds. Our earth is warmed by its presence. There is a moment where the earth meets the sky and they meld together to form another kingdom. The stillness of the world crashes against the laughter of the people...The force of the water breaks the sand. Then the camera clicks. The story has been preserved, safely tucked away, unable to be harmed. Stopped. My dreams live in this world. There is a never ending supply of allurement.

My true (unaltered) story carries on. I am not able to tuck my life safely away. It ticks by second, by second. Each moment, washing over the next. I have strata. Pre-marriage, showing up at my Love's his coffee shop randomly just to sit and watch him work, sunsets on Alki Beach, furniture shopping, a sleeping infant in my arms, my son's nasty (thankfully gone) habit of waking at 4:30am each morning, my daughter's near death experience in the delivery room, fighting over vegetables, pulled teeth, fighting over discipline, laughing at the newly discovered words of a toddler, walking to the park, races and birthday cakes are a few of my moments. I do not mimic the perfection of the still life. My moments cannot be photoshopped. My moments are sometimes ugly, sometimes fleeting and sometimes too complicated.

There is famine, war, unpredictable natural disasters, debt and homelessness. There are moments, and lifetimes, of hopelessness. In my own life there is doubt, anger and selfishness.

The footprints lead to nowhere and to somewhere all at the same time. The prints left are soon washed by the blood of the innocent. The sun beams down making slits through the clouds, it lights up the metal machinery with diamonds. Our earth is hot with anguish. There is a moment where the earth meets the sky and they meld together to form another kingdom, but no one is paying attention. The stillness of the world crashes against the cries of the people...The force of a bomb explodes a neighborhood...The water keeps rising...children scour a garbage dump in hopes of finding their next meal...Then the camera clicks. The story has been exposed. The suffering has been cataloged. My dreams sometimes live in this world too. There is a never ending supply of offensiveness.

Beauty does not come from perfection. It comes from living in each moment and taking care to do and be the best in each moment. Beauty comes out of forgiveness and sacrifice. Beauty comes from attending to the suffering. Beauty is in the rebuilding. Beauty can be discovered between each moment, when no one is paying attention. Beauty is the story of me. Beauty is the story of you. Our history. Our future. Melded together. Mixed up footprints.

Rain, rain go away.

Make sure you take a deep, deep breath.
We are going under water folks and won't resurface for a very long time.

The Puget Sound rain can drive us all to put our PJs on early. It has a cozy feel when the fire is lit and a book has been opened. The foggy skies envelop us. It is our blanket. I long for a sweater with just the right amount of warmth and softness. There is peace.

I come to grips with the Puget Sound rain every February. The cherry blossoms start to bud and there is a touch of warmth behind the nastiness. The grass is lush and green and the sunsets can take you by surprise. There is a brief opening prior to the plunge back into the wetness. Sometimes this interlude lasts several hours or it can last several weeks. The crispness has faded. My hands are no longer cold. I am able to fast forward through the windy storms of March, right on to July.

There is a time however, between October and January that the Puget Sound is brutish, nasty and downright wet. It rips our summer from us. We long to hang on. Our grip loosens a bit more every day through the last week of September.

We glimpse a bit of sun and we adorn our short-sleeve t-shirts with scarves and wear boots with our shorts.  It is a cold time. Our children unceasingly ask us if it is still raining. Our parks are deserted. The walk from our car to the grocery store is a desolate one. Our neighbors hibernate. Our dogs refuse to go outside. The furnace roars to life again.  We eat fatty foods. Gone are our salads. Our cars take on a musty smell. Everyone hurries to get out of the wet.

Our lazy, just got started, Summer of beach walks, too hot bedrooms, birds chirping at 4:00am, BBQs, sandals, water fights and camp outs comes crashing to a halt. And all we are left with is a closet full of the wrong type of clothes and fleeting memories, almost dream like, of the way it used to be.

Break out the sweaters. Break out the PJs.  Hold on (to a book, a hobby, your lover, your house or your work) until February. Make sure you take a deep, deep breath. We are going under water folks and won't resurface for a very long time.

After time you learn to spot the Februarys. They are our life preservers, our saviors. As your lift the July page in your calendar this all will be a fleeting memory.