The Exhales

May 3, 2016

I watched them from the back door, remembering childhood through them. An old elm tree had fallen, and laid perpendicular across the grass, with branches for balancing and a large trunk for exploring. Climbing a tree but sideways, on angles instead of up and down. I stood and listened, drinking in the chatter when they didn’t think Mom was watching. They started a tree club, each new feat brought you to a new level. My son the tree master, on level 7, the most advanced of course. His younger sister, an eager student, mastering new skills with enthusiasm. And then she asked, “Ronald, when people say boys are stronger than girls, do you believe them?’ I held my breathe, knowing how much rode on this answer. Older brothers don’t give canned answer, they tell the truth. He paused, and said thoughtfully and definitively, “No, I think it’s about who vs. who.” As I exhaled.

I made my way over to them, my daughter telling me of falling in the “the ditch” where the base of the tree formed a deep hole. Showing me her scrape and saying, “Mom now I don’t need to write fiction in school! I have a real story to tell! Bad things can become good things!” As I nodded yes at the wonder of a child taking in this world and filtering out good.

We decided to take to the Bridlewood Trails, horse trails that run along yards, and through woods, and pop you out on streets only to continue again. We found walking sticks and I told them how my Da, their great grandfather, collected shillelaghs or Irish walking sticks. They climbed more fallen trees and upright trees. My son picked flowers for his sisters and me, given with ceremony and grandeur. We met a golden retriever on the other side of a slated wooden fence desperate to be with my children on our adventure. We looked for arrowheads, and crystals, and my daughters arms filled with sticks, and rocks, flowers, and branches.

I set the cherry blossoms on the table in my grandmother teacup, and my daughter found a space in her bedroom for her treasures. And life went on, to school, and activities, time keeping, and need to be here and theres.

The next day I retrieved a walnut from the wash, tucked in a pocket and later forgotten. I placed it by the flowers remembering the gift of the pause, the decrescendo, the release, the exhale. This space is where we find each other, where we see each other. This is my shavasana, as I receive my children, as I receive my day. Let there be pauses between your breathe. Let there be space between the flow of your day. Life is experienced in the exhales.