Beautiful Summer Morning

Photo by Pauline DeForest

When I gaze out over Rush Cove
and see the beauty all around,
it totally fills me up,
like I cannot get enough of the
tranquil beauty of this area, my special spot. I was only introduced to this area about 20 years ago briefly and then again 8 years ago more permanently.

I fell in love with Rush Cove and all hits hidden beauty at first sight. I long to spend all my time there, to explore, to watch, to enjoy and most of all, see more of that beauty yet to show itself. It is the only place on earth I feel at peace. I can sit for hours staring just at Rush Cove alone, she tells stories if you listen carefully and the dance, well, the dance is always different every single time you watch it.

Once you understand the story you come to realize that it has captured your inner most thoughts and then in return asks for your story, of which I have told many. It draws your inner most fears, secrets and memories and asks for a dance. Rush Cove does not judge me, punish me, or ignore me; it wraps her beauty around me and holds me tight.

I always thought, when I was a child, my life was not so grand, but as I got older and wiser and met my friend Rush Cove, my life has been the most wonderful journey which I would not change for anything. Rush Cove let me reflect on all its beauty, to see that I had a grand life after all. It drew me into her knowing I did need some guidance and reflection on my life. Once that dance began it unfolded many things in my memory I had forgotten or simply put aside of no importance. Somehow she knew I just needed that little bit of comfort to let it all flow out. I am grateful.

Rush Cove also gave the same courtesy to my Mother when my Dad passed away: she sat at the shore for hours, not speaking; I dared not interrupt as I knew Rush Cove was asking my Mother for that dance. As I watched from afar, I could see Rush Cove’s beauty and peacefulness had reached into my Mother’s inner most thoughts and held her tight. My Mother has never really said, to this day, anything about the healing of Rush Cove that day, but I do know one thing for sure, my Mother danced and was at peace.

Rush Cove and I have a very special bond and will have to the end of my days. I wish others could experience her as I have, oh yes many have seen her outer beauty, but most have never captured her inner beauty as I have. And when my days on this planet are no more, I will be visiting my friend Rush Cove to dance yet again one last time and I will truly be at peace.

Pauline DeForest

Editor’s Note: As you read this I think you will be infused with the beauty and peace Pauline is talking about. This is a beautiful and moving story. I want to thank Pauline, another one of my wonderful sister published at Beautiful Summer Morning, for sumitting something so personal and for offering to share this with the readers of BSM. Nick

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Photo (c) by Kimberly Bate: All Rights Reserved “Ice Storm Maples”

Article (c) by Wordbird

I had a bright banana yellow Subaru hatch back.
I loved it because you could stuff
an entire herd of goats
in there and still have room
(never really tried goats. But they would fit I know);
and I could pick out that distinct yellow instantly in any parking lot.

But right now I don’t have a car and the response to that is usually a.) horror and disbelief “I could NEVER live without my car(s), or b. contempt “You don’t HAVE a car?” Perhaps the only people who don’t blink twice are from New York City, where those with cars are pitied for the burden. You can walk anywhere faster in New York City, or grab a cab if you have to, while that poor other guy is still looking for a parking space.

And then the rare person who understands that while it can be inconvenient, she’s missing something that I experience every day. I get outside, I hear birds, I feel the wind, I know who lives where, I stop whenever I please, the doctor says my heart rhythm is that of an athlete (and believe me, I’m no athlete). I can’t so I don’t carry impulse purchases of junk back home; I don’t spend for gas, oil, repairs, insurance, tires, tags, license, parking, on and on; my life pace is slower in part because I don’t make seemingly endless short trips and errands every day; I haven’t been in bumper-to-bumper traffic in years, and while odds are uncomfortably high a pedestrian be smushed, and on my bike I’m courting increased disaster, I can be sure I won’t have a car accident. Nor will I ever emerge from a store to find my car has been towed, or ticketed, vandalized, or stolen.

For that special feeling a long drive brings, or errands that require it, I rent a car now and again. I don’t mean this lifestyle is inherently better. Though in fact I am considering moving to one of a few cities designed not for cars, but for people. What I mean to say is having no car is neither a horror; nor a shame. It’s just a life with adjustments, negatives and benefits. Like all lives.

This week the weather has been for me, not long out of New Orleans, bone chilling, skin piercing cold–12 above zero at night–weird for my area. Today was the first day I could go out without risking frostbite, so off I rambled, to the Italian shop, the bank, the grocery store.

By time I came out of the grocery I was a mile from home, the temp had dropped and the wind picked up. I stood outside donning the various cold weather paraphernalia that make warm weather dwellers laugh…mittens, scarfs, neck dickie, hood…and I was weighing the food bags to gauge how far I could walk before they’d become dead weight, when an elderly lady pulled up nearby in her shiny white Town Car, and she sat there. Looking at her nails, for the most part.

I was thinking maybe I should carry the heaviest thing–pomegranate juice a naturopath recommended–in my back bag, when this lady rolled down her window, part way, and in a thick Italian accent asked, “You aren’t planning on WALKING in this weather?” I nodded dumbly. “Would you like a…ride..somewhere?” She looked uncertain this was a good idea. I considered saying, “No thanks,” to ease her anxiety. But I know me, and I’m quite harmless. I showed her my face, which as much as anything says, “It’s all right.”

“YES, I would appreciate that so much.” And in I jumped. Back seat. Safer for her that way in case I’m a mugger.

As she dropped me off I told her she was a real blessing for me today. You know what she said? She said, “I’m blessed in this life. I try to pass it forward.”

She made my day. Though she is fearful, as so many of us are these days, of strangers, she’s more loving than fearful; more good, more compassionate, more courageous, than fearful. For all I know she watched me in the parking lot a while before listening to that inner voice, and choosing trust and love, with wise caution attached, over fear. She brought me home safely. She saved me fatigue and deep chill. Believe me when I’m beat, and carrying weight on my back, another mile seems a very long way indeed.

But more important than that, small acts like hers keep the world bright, gentle, and good. If we give into fear, we’ll soon all go from house to car and back to house, abandoning the streets and fields and neighborhood walks to the darkness. We can’t let that happen. We’ve got to pay attention to possible dangers and avoid them. But not avoid everyone, and everything, that MIGHT be a problem. That’s avoiding life itself. Now I think to both she and I this town feels just a bit more friendly. I feel happier. I feel less alone. Because of a ride given to a stranger.

Wordbird

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