In 1994 when my oldest was home from college for the summer, we got up at 6 a.m. each morning and walked together. We continued our walks until her wedding in 1996.
By then second daughter had joined us, and walking wasn't enough. She wanted to run, training for field hockey. We walked and jogged those early summer mornings until her wedding day in 2000.
Now if I walk I am usually alone. But I like the silence. Sometimes I'm lost in thought, sometimes I see my surroundings. I always notice my favorite tree, standing regally, alone against the sky.
One year for Christmas my daughter gave me a framed collage of this tree in the four seasons.
Today I paused at the entrance of my neighbor's driveway. Gretchen, 63, lived many years with Parkinsons disease. She, too, used to walk in the early mornings and we often passed one another in the darkness just before dawn. Later, when she could no longer manage those walks, I would see her in her flower garden, watering, tending each bed with loving care.
Today I stood before a dead winter wreath hanging on the fence. It seems to speak of the recent experience within those gates, for Gretchen died the end of February.
Who will tend your gardens now?
The hint of new life is all around. Snow drops and crocuses are blooming, daffodils are budding and tulips are growing. The pussy willow bush is covered in luxurious fur. Robins and bluebirds are here in abundance, and the goldfinch is getting it's bright yellow coat.
Death and life, always present.
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