It was one of those days where I knew at the end a walk around with my camera would do me some good. I won't run down the list for you of what my day entailed up until that point because we are all busy and I'm sure you don't need my stress on top of your own.
We are all moving from the minute our feet hit the floor until we park ourselves at the end of each and every very long day. At least most of the people I know live this way and it's up to us to self-impose some time-outs.
Sometimes I walk around imagining myself as a 99 year old woman, looking back, telling a story to someone, anyone who will listen.
"That was when we lived in an old farmhouse," I'd say, "we gutted it from top to bottom, kept it from falling to the ground, built it back up strong and new. We had three kids there and added on and vowed to care for what we were given. After all, we knew it wasn't really, only, ours."
The green looks more green when I daydream,
the barn changes every time I see it,
the kids do what they naturally do,
and I know it won't last forever. But I try on these walks to soak in every last bit of it. To make it part of me, to make memories instead of flying by life so fast and calling myself productive.
So I save the lilacs and plant more peonies. I spread lilies around the outskirts and know that they'll root themselves. I give the iris their room and replant them as well, knowing that old Mrs. Webster probably planted the original ones well before I was born. There is history here. I can feel it. It reminds me and humbles me when I know that this life isn't all about me. I like that.