On our walk to the off leash area, Beaumont and I pass through a picnic area along the river. Yesterday, though overcast and misty, a family was holding a birthday party for their young daughter, about 5 or 6 years old.

There were several young children running around the park. Pointed polka-dot paper hats on heads. Balloons streaming behind them as they ran about, each attached to a long bright red ribbon. At one point, I heard a mother say to her young son as she walked with him and an even younger son, “What good sharing Jay. Letting Luke [the younger child who was following his older brother around] have the balloon is so kind.”

And just then, the younger boy let go of the ribbon and the balloon began to rise up into the air. He stood transfixed, watching it float higher and higher, and then he began to cry.

The mother knelt down beside him, pulled him into a hug and said, “It’s okay. The balloon’s going up to play with the clouds.”

I wanted to stop and tell them, “No. It’s not going up to play. It will probably end up in some birds stomach and be the death of that bird.”

I did not stop and share my thoughts with the woman and her son.

Sometimes, the kindest thing to do is walk away in silence. Not every moment is a teaching moment.

Beau and I continued on our walk and when we arrived at ‘his park’, I let him off the leash and he bounded through the tall grasses, chasing blowing leaves and dandelion puffs.

I walked. He ran. I laughed at his antics. He kept running, his nose constantly leading him from one side of the trail to the other, into bushes and fields of wildflowers. At the trail where we usually turn to walk down to the water’s edge, I kept going straight. He looked at me. He looked at the trail to the river.

“But what about my cool drink and refresh?” he seemed to ask as he looked at me and back to the trail to the river.

“C’mon buddy. No river today,” I called out as I kept walking the other way.

He gave one last longing look at the river trail and then bounded after me.

The birthday party revellers were gone by the time we walked back through the picnic area. So was the balloon.

I don’t know how far it soared, or where it has gone. I wonder where and when it will come back to earth. How much harm will it cause on its journey?

For such a small thing, a balloon carries a big impact.

Each day, my world is filled with big and small moments to savour, to cherish, and some to walk away from.  Each thing I do has an impact. Big. Small. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Yesterday, I encountered a moment where my reaction lead me to walk away. Not right. Not wrong. Just an opposite reaction to an action.

Today, I choose to release my thoughts on ‘what I could have done differently’, and let my worry go like a balloon floating off into space.

Today, I think about that balloon and my walk with Beau and I remember what is most important. For that mother and her sons, it was the time together. The moments shared.

Just as that was what was important for me. Being outside with Beau in nature. Savouring the small moments.

I take a breath.

No matter the action and our reaction, it is always time to savour the moment, to reflect on our blessings and give thanks for all that is present in our lives; that which we deem ‘good’ or bad and to acknowledge, life is a gift we’ve been given to live in Love. And sometimes, in Love means walking away  in silence.

Namaste.