It happens every autumn.
Summer days swiftly turn into cooler nights, harbingers of autumn’s fast approach.
This morning, as I sit at my desk, the river flowing past in glacier green beauty, I see no rafters floating by. Just the branches of the trees bending in the cool morning wind gusting in from the north.
I hear the sound of the leaves whispering stories of the wind to the squirrels running up and down their trunks. They are gathering food for their long winter’s nap.
The sky hangs low, laden with pregnant grey clouds waiting to release their bounty on the earth below.
And I am warm and snug inside, wrapped in the bliss of watching leaves dance on trees and water flowing by.
Savouring these small graces of my morning view is my antidote to world events that stalk the edges of my peace of mind. They remind me that change is happening, even when I feel like the world is stuck in a bad movie.
In, Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, “The Skywoman story, shared by the original peoples throughout the Great Lakes, is a constant star in the constellation of teachings we call the Original Instructions. These are not “instructions” like commandments, though, or rules; rather, they are like a compass: they provide an orientation but not a map. The work of living is creating that map for yourself. How to follow the Original Instructions will be different for each of us and different for every era.”
“The work of living is creating that map for yourself.”
I am wondering on my map. Wondering what words, images, sounds, feels, thoughts I would use to describe the map I am creating with my life.
It is good to wonder. It is good to explore my wonderings. To visualize and actualize my map.
What about you? Do you wonder about the map you are creating with your life?