Posting this separate from the update on the days because it’s in an entirely different tone and probably deserves its own entry. More typical travel entries tomorrow.
We walked out of the play arm in arm. The lake was before us, with the mountains behind, all the purple shades of blue in the dusk. There was a green hill where the sheep, lambs and geese were grazing, some silhouetted against the sky. Wisps of cloud were overhead, pink and yellow. It was all so beautiful, and quiet, and peaceful. The air was fresh and cold. I felt alive, and healthy, and happy. I loved the lake and the mountains and the sheep and the clouds. I loved the way our B&B looked, with its little lights twinkling in a friendly way as we approached. I loved the warmth of a good play in my chest. I felt so full of love for all these things that I wanted to cry.
One thing I’ve been thinking about recently is how fleeting time is. I’ve been thinking about it because my study abroad journey is nearly over. I’ve been thinking about it because I’ve only got one more year of undergrad left. And even though I’m planning on graduate school, I kind of consider this my last year as a student—and I’ve been a student my whole life!
As we walked to our B&B, I kept thinking about how I live like I can hit rewind and return to a moment. I live like every day can be relived. But it really can’t. I’ll never walk down that tree lined lane, under the sunset, in the cool of spring, having just seen Cranford, with my mom on my arm, again. Oh, it will live on in my memory. But I don’t get to go back. I don’t get to keep that moment forever.
I was wondering what other people walking on that road had thought. Did they wish they could bottle up precious, small moments like that walk? I was thinking about Mrs. Mike, about how being alive is made up of the small perfect moments and not the live altering events.
I was thinking about how one day there won’t be a little tree lined lane, or sheep, or a twinkling B&B, or maybe even a lake or mountains. One day there won’t be my mom. One day there won’t be a me.
It makes me want to cry. But it’s a good sort of cry. A cleansing sort.
Because I am just a tiny, tiny speck. But I have a heart that loves, loves, loves these things. I’m just a tiny speck, but I get to see it all. I get to feel the breezes and health and the touch of my mother and the preciousness of time as it slips through my fingers. And I believe there is a God who made the mountains and the trees and the sheep and my mom and me. I think my longing for more time, more beauty, more to love comes from an immortal soul He gave me. And I think, maybe, the bittersweet grief of a perfect day is knowing that the real perfection is still yet to come.