Slipping Down the Silver Path
I am having an exquisite moment. Sitting in my courtyard the sun shines brightly as every bit of me relaxes into it’s warmth. My eyes drawn to a ladybird traveling down the handle of a spoon resting in the leftover milk of my cereal bowl. Fascinated, everything else fades further away as I follow the little guy walking purposely (or so it seems to me) down towards what must appear as a white lake at the end of the silver path. I think maybe it is thirsty or curious but before I can take my reflection deeper the little traveler slides the last bit and lands into the lake ending up on it’s back with minute legs (many of them) kicking furiously. Without hesitation I dip my finger into the milk and coming up from underneath rescue the explorer. Flipping and regaining his demeanor now settles on my thumb and as I watch, washes each leg in turn. I have to wonder if he likes the taste of the milk and is grateful for a drink.
At that moment it is just me and the little guy. Our life’ interrupted and changed by the other.
Nature does that to you. Just by it’s very day-to-day activities going on whether we see it or not, we are reminded that it is not just about us. The moment our day collided I shared not only a wonderment of his journey but also a deep connecting feeling to nature.
We may detach or feel we live separate from the little bugs that go about there business or the single waving leaf making spiral movements in the silent still breeze but we are not. We too are nature. We too travel down our silver paths looking for what we need, seeking exploration or sometimes just falling into what we didn’t see but what was very apparent right in front of our noses.
It is at those times we are brought up short. As we kick furiously trying to right ourselves life’s intensity is turned up a few degrees. Do we sink or do we swim? Or as in the case of my new friend and teacher, does something very much bigger than ourselves suddenly lift us up and out of the swallowing sea and then gently, ever so gently, hold us, waiting while we get our baring and sort ourselves out. Then with a deep sense of connectedness, quietly and with love lowers us back onto solid ground.
Helping hands come in all shapes and sizes and always the act is far greater than the busybody, minute little steps trundling along their silver path. In that moment of exquisiteness I was reminded of many an unexpected helping hand.
Lowering him down into his world the sharing of our path ended. He trundled off into his life but not before I swear I saw or felt he looked back to thank me and as he did I too experienced the very same gratitude as did my tiny, red with black spots reflection of myself.
We can be both the trundler or the helping hand. Hold back not the hand as it opens up the heart.