Whats All The hurry About?
Sometimes I am so utterly focused, fixated on the call before me, that everything that matters is just a blur. I was reminded of that this morning as I raced across town, for no other reason, than racing seems to occupy my life. Engulfed by responsibilities that demand too much, I was forced to a sudden halt. Before me, a tribe of alien Geese, sashaying across my dedicated daily commute, looked in my direction and began squawking at my ridiculous hurry. Their lack of pressing engagement, suggested I put the truck in park, take a deep breath and take in the world around me.
Suddenly, my windshield was a living canvas, begging my senses to wake me from my morning stupor. The red of mountain oak stood in stark contrast to yellow aspen, emerging oranges of autumn maples and a sea of evergreens that stretched forever against the white of the snow capped Cascades. From the window on my left, attentive dear exchanged glances between the grass and my inquisitive window. At the window on my right, the morning light played delicately and magically on the rivers surface as mallards, two by two, waddled down to take possession of the river. A single yellow Lilly, refusing the call of winter, clung stubbornly to a plot of seasoned earth while purple from winter violas were splashed about without any rhyme or reason.
There are times in life, when the eyes and heart journey a road together. When hand and hand, they paint description that neither of them could do sufficiently without the other. Moments when beauty sears the soul so profoundly, that we can feel the life around us coming to rest upon our senses. Moments that are always there, just waiting the waking of our stupor, the failing of our hurry or the simple squawking of some geese.
Suddenly, I was alerted by the blasting of indignant horns, irritated by my surrender to the moment. My rear view mirror confirmed a halted commute about three blocks long. I put the old truck in drive, gave a wave to acknowledge my failing and rejoined the human race. Concluding that the bumper to bumper proximity of those behind me was lingering resentment, I chose to pull over and let everyone catch up to the hurry which they were chasing. I watched them shaking their fist in my direction, grimacing, muttering and beating defenseless horns to alleviate their frustrations.. I sat there trying to make sense of the two opposite worlds, which had come to bear upon my senses in the last few minutes. A beauty unencumbered stolen from the pursuit of a ridiculous hurry. I drove away slowly, thinking about the morning. It is the hurry, I concluded, that makes the stopping, so exquisite.
