Passing Gracefully like the Fog Moving By
This morning started out beautifully as I left the house somewhat in a hurry to get to work. I turned the corner by the horses ready to barrel past the schools before traffic stopped with lines of parents and school buses. As I passed the horses something soft caught my eye. It was the fog.
The softest whispering fog that was almost nonexistent fog was slipping over the hill where the horses were. It was gentle. It was breathy like a cloud moving silently past the horses and dipping into the forest of tall trees enveloping them in a hug. I knew I had to stop everything and get out of the car to be in it. What is life if you can't be in the fog when it asks you to? So I stopped. The fog was around my ankles and around the horses and it softly ever so softly swayed passed me and breathed around the trees in the forest.
"If I could name you, your name would be Red Velvet Cake, rich and thick and something you want to be in..." I thought to myself watching the fog slowly move by. I walked up to the horses and we looked at each other and said "Well, I guess that's that." Somewhat befuddled by the majesty and beauty of that soft fog. The horses and I were left feeling rather clunky, like walruses, after feeling such softy silky delicate movements of the alluring fog.
I stood by the horses watching them eat, then watched sap drop from the tree. Slowly drop. The tree seemed pretty proud of its ability to sap so nicely!
I got back into the car, went to sit in traffic and thought about the moving fog.
A few hours later at lunch time I was in mass and we started to pray "Our Father." The old priest held up his wrinkled hands and led us, business men, a few homeless old women, some tourists taking pictures, in the prayer of Our Lord. At that moment my phone buzzed. And BUZZED. How embarrassing! I quickly turned it off knowing something that interrupts "Our Father" and mass has to do with Heaven....it always does.
As I left mass I turned on my phone and saw messages that my great-aunt passed. The news came during our invocation to Heaven.
She was 100 years old. She arrived to her party ready to say good-bye. Everyone told her not to say that! But she knew she was ready. In fact, she was sick of this place. She was born during the revolution and saw Cavalrymen galloping here and there on horseback. When she grew up there were horses everywhere. Times changed, decades passed and she was ready to go she said. She blew out her birthday candles.
She held my Grandma's hand.
And she told my Grandma, "If I get there before you do, I will wait for you so we can go in holding hands together!" My 94-year-old granny thought for a moment thinking that there would be no way to communicate up there so she pointed to the sky.
"I'll wait for you at the gate! Like when we were girls going to the market! Wait for me at the entrance and don't move till I get there, ok?" my grandma asked. "Ok, ok." my great aunt responded.
So today, in the company of horses like those my great-aunt grew up around, and in the midst of invoking heaven in mass, she whispered that she passed on....graceful like the fog.
The softest whispering fog that was almost nonexistent fog was slipping over the hill where the horses were. It was gentle. It was breathy like a cloud moving silently past the horses and dipping into the forest of tall trees enveloping them in a hug. I knew I had to stop everything and get out of the car to be in it. What is life if you can't be in the fog when it asks you to? So I stopped. The fog was around my ankles and around the horses and it softly ever so softly swayed passed me and breathed around the trees in the forest.
"If I could name you, your name would be Red Velvet Cake, rich and thick and something you want to be in..." I thought to myself watching the fog slowly move by. I walked up to the horses and we looked at each other and said "Well, I guess that's that." Somewhat befuddled by the majesty and beauty of that soft fog. The horses and I were left feeling rather clunky, like walruses, after feeling such softy silky delicate movements of the alluring fog.
 |
| The trees looked my way. |
I stood by the horses watching them eat, then watched sap drop from the tree. Slowly drop. The tree seemed pretty proud of its ability to sap so nicely!
 |
| The smell...Oh the delicious smell of the pine sap! |
I got back into the car, went to sit in traffic and thought about the moving fog.
A few hours later at lunch time I was in mass and we started to pray "Our Father." The old priest held up his wrinkled hands and led us, business men, a few homeless old women, some tourists taking pictures, in the prayer of Our Lord. At that moment my phone buzzed. And BUZZED. How embarrassing! I quickly turned it off knowing something that interrupts "Our Father" and mass has to do with Heaven....it always does.
As I left mass I turned on my phone and saw messages that my great-aunt passed. The news came during our invocation to Heaven.
She was 100 years old. She arrived to her party ready to say good-bye. Everyone told her not to say that! But she knew she was ready. In fact, she was sick of this place. She was born during the revolution and saw Cavalrymen galloping here and there on horseback. When she grew up there were horses everywhere. Times changed, decades passed and she was ready to go she said. She blew out her birthday candles.
 |
| "Adios!" |
She held my Grandma's hand.
 |
| "This is the last time we do this here!" |
And she told my Grandma, "If I get there before you do, I will wait for you so we can go in holding hands together!" My 94-year-old granny thought for a moment thinking that there would be no way to communicate up there so she pointed to the sky.
"I'll wait for you at the gate! Like when we were girls going to the market! Wait for me at the entrance and don't move till I get there, ok?" my grandma asked. "Ok, ok." my great aunt responded.
So today, in the company of horses like those my great-aunt grew up around, and in the midst of invoking heaven in mass, she whispered that she passed on....graceful like the fog.
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