The phone rings. This morning.
A surgeon's office calling.
After weeks of lying low; healing eluding.
This may be the answer.
Almost a relief. This. Almost.
Turning to my window, hungry for goodness.
Searching the vista.
And I see.
A grey November-breaking morning.
Treetops waving furiously; tall trunks reaching skyward, silhouette-like dark.
A riot of color spiraling down; leaves falling like small torpedoes.
Unleashed against shades of steel; the sky.
The green expanse beneath covering with autumn color.
A season falling hard.
And so we all. At times.
And some - so much harder than my own.
And yet. For us all.
Of uncertainty, pain and loss.
The being side-lined.
And the waiting.
For change. Healing. Relief.
Clouds scuttling angry now.
The muted light of wild November sky.
Speaking to my heart. This beauty fierce.
Another view from a window. If you were to peer inside.
The house rolled up, put away, covered.
Also waiting. For normalcy. Here too.
Workmen noisy tearing out. Walls demolished.
A bin loaded full. Overflowing even.
With the old, the worn-out. To be replaced.
Weeks of waiting. In disarray.
Dishes piled high in a bathroom sink.
Picnics from my bed.
When nothing is as it should be.
When unexpected drops in to call.
When the pain won't stop.
And walls come crashing down.
When winds blow hard and leaves fall.
And seasons change.
There is beauty still.
And I have watched. From a window.
The changing. Summer warm to fall.
Framed each day within the panes of glass.
Like a silent movie of old; each frame slightly different.
Until the whole picture changes.
Into something new.
And though I expect it. In the seasons.
And love this ever changing vista.
I am always surprised.
Preferring instead a modern movie; my life.
Frames changing faster. Prettier. Happier.
Glamorous and exciting.
Resolution within two hours.
A good ending.
But, really. I know better.
Life is hard.
And I continue to be surprised.
When the everyday, ordinary isn't good enough.
But what if it were. Good enough?
If walls had to come down
and lives had to slow
and seasons had to change.
To bring the new.
A bird soars high overhead. Above the treetops.
Unexpected goodness too.
In every season.
This beauty fierce.
While we wait. While we struggle.
Until the whole picture changes into something new.
In the beautiful ordinary everyday.