I woke up very early on this mid-November morning and decided to go to one of my favorite places – Strawbridge Lake – for a long, leisurely walk. The weather was perfect; unusually warm and sunny for the time of year. I knew an opportunity like this would likely not come again. I dressed hurriedly by the light of the rising sun, said goodbye to my sleeping cat, and quietly closed the front door behind me.
I began at the upper stretch of the lake. It was calm. A gentle breeze stirred the air to no avail. Only the slightest ripple responded. The very definition of languid. Its slow movement downstream called out to me. “No hurry…stop for a while. Catch your breath. See how beautiful I am when I am still. Look at my reflection. I am a mirror of all that surrounds me.”
I stood unmoving on the bank. It was so quiet I could hear my heart beat. I ached with the loveliness of it all.
After awhile, I walked slowly downstream. Here a slight descent created a small waterfall. The sun captured its movement and sunbeams danced in its reflection. “Look at me, it called out. See how I create rainbows at the bottom of the waterfall. I am in motion. Listen to the music I make as the rocks try to slow my progress.”
Later in the day, sitting on my balcony with my sweet cat, Lovebug, I thought about the lake and what it had taught me.
Sometimes I need to be quiet like the upper stretch. It gives me time to think about what I see and hear. No rush to action. Thoughtful. Allow myself to see the simple beauty in everyday life without the distraction of the world’s woes.
Sometimes I need to be in motion like the downstream stretch. Obstacles abound. I need to find my way – over, under, around or through. I have to keep going so that I can still hear the music.
I must go back to the Lake very soon and thank her for the lessons. And the reflections.