I understand.
It is not so easy, pas si simple, as to say that when I woke this morning there was a bank of fog so thick that I could not see the road ahead while walking the dogs…and then, the sun broke through to burn the brouillard away.
Perhaps you don’t want to hear that right now, you are far too angry; or maybe you are dying to…just a little reassurance, fingertips to pat the top of your hand as your Grandmother once did. And then there are those who might raise their chins victoriously, certain that is exactly what happened.
Save that I am not talking in metaphors.
Or only partially.
In my daily life, I am often cotton cocooned in confusion. It is overwhelming being back in France on so many levels, especially after such a challenging yet undeniably fruitful eight months in the States. There has been elation and disappointment alike. I don’t know exactly what I want or how long I will be here, which means that I have no idea what lies ahead.
But so many of us are feeling this way. Not everything is personal.
I talked the dogs up the steps and onto the green to peer into formless knowing, the humidity dewing my cheek, dotting my eyelids. Noses to the ground, they found their way.
In this new alone, I have to remember that I am not.
Because we just have to keep going. And by so doing, shining out light to burn away all that is obscuring our view. You know what light that is. I do too. The one that is not – not now, not ever – fueled by fear.
The sun did come out. And everything was clear. In that moment. Of course I am oversimplifying and nothing is so simple anymore. But that doesn’t mean that I am hiding my gaze or turning solitary contrary just yet. No. I will fight for joy or beauty when I can get it and I want out of this confusion. So,
My eyes are open and they speak for me.
Still here, still here, still here.
I will take the postcards and the reality too. Simple is a (even if temporary) balm and only a very few of us can actually see ahead. “The only way past is through,” on repeat. It is a start.
That makes me think of Ellie!
Winona, I really struggled with this post so thank you so very much for your response!
Thank you so much, C. Trying to find my way through just like we all are.
I am so really glad to hear it, Judith. And I am really excited for all that you have in front of you. It is inspiring!
Mahalo to you, Bill.
As we both know, Bonnie. xo
Thinking for you, hoping for you all you'd wish for yourself. I cannot second guess it, but I want you to be OK and happy, whatever that takes. Jan xx
Such beautiful writing and photos, Heather. Hrre in the States, where I am at the moment for my daughter's wedding, I feel a strong sense of the surreal. I can barely watch the news. It all feels overwhelming. Thank goodness for my wonderful children and granddaughter, keeping me sane. 🙂
"Lagadigadeu, la tarasco, lagadigadeu
Laissa passa la vieio masco. Laissa passa que vai dansa.
La tarasco dou casteu, la tarasco dou casteu"
Though la fête de la Tarasque is in May as far as I remember, these misty pictures of the Rhône evoked that "mystery" legend to my mind.
Where did you take them? Somewhere near you? Comment j'adore le broulliard.
Can't believe how green it is still chez toi, down there. Wish I was there!
Like the fog, confusion will vanish in some time. Meanwhile, follow your furry allies.
Thank you for letting us dream again!(We all need to, now)
Yes, many of us are feeling this way! Both for general/political reasons and personal; it is a hard time – one where fear does want to reign supreme. So thank you for your words and photos – being in and observing nature does help; so do your lovely words. You are not alone – not ever – don't forget that very crucial point!