There was no precursor to the mood I would wake up in. If anything, it should have been light, a bit dreamy, definitely on the road to a reverie awash in tones of sepia. I thought the mood would carry over from last night, from watching ‘Midnight in Paris’ by Woody Allen. Its a wonderful movie that leaves one gushing and day dreaming about a bohemian Paris.
Generally, mornings are quiet yet frenzied movements of going from chore to chore until the tea is made and drunk on the go, the beds are made, the lunch is packed, the child is dropped off to school with last minute instructions to behave and goodbye kisses…. But interspersed within these moments are the ones where one gazes out the window in wonder of the dawning day and stands in awe at all the fluttering movements without.
But this morning was different. Looking through the window, I saw snow on the ground and my only reaction, hmm..guess it snowed last night. My eyes did not take in the sublime whiteness that stretched outward as far as the eye could see nor the tint of the pale blue sky mirrored in its myriad facets. The trees and bushes were fluffed up with its white down that was balanced in precarious towers over their ragged surfaces but I could not be bothered to take it in. The stillness of the scene did not steal into my soul and fill it to the brim with awe. I was left untouched.
Dawn broke slowly over the the roof tops that glistened with snow and through the smoking chimneys that puffed out smoke which smelled of old wood and deep forests. The sky blushed peach and pink with unabashed pride as it haled the ruling star into the court, all fiery and magnificent in russets and gold. But all this, I did not see.
It was as though I was still asleep or wrapped in a cocoon of indifference. It was strange. A little disconcerting. I struggled against the constraints to break free, to open my eyes, but it only tired me. What strange whimsical beings we are. How frantically we claw at the fabric of life to find something magical in each day, as if our life depended on it.
And then I remembered something a dear, dear friend of mine had said to me,
Chop wood, carry water…each moment is not the crest of the wave.
Chop more wood, carry more water…the eyes are resting and the heart is gathering.
And when I remembered those words, I let go. I let it be. Maybe today was for resting, for gathering and for knowing that that is okay too.
I suppose some days are just for letting go.