Friday, April 26, 2013

Slow Moving Sun

Just when it seemed spring had forgotten about us, we had a day like yesterday: clear, blue skies sparkling on a vibrant ocean, eagles soaring and diving after carcasses, crisp strong winds trying to blow the shell of winter away.

I couldn’t get enough of being outside: a run, a walk, time spent rocking my baby on the deck, her face shielded from the bright, warm sunlight while mine couldn’t soak it in fast enough. Small commuting planes took off and landed as we watched, their engines accenting the quiet of their absence. While the ravens perched on streetlights and tall spruce, the sun moved across the sky.

“Time moves slowly,” I was told by friends who had babies before me. It’s a truth that I understand better now that I am in the caretaking roll myself. At the end of the day I can often list no other activities then holding and rocking a baby. Yet in this slow pace I notice much that I previously might have missed in the chaos of busyness, even if it’s the distinct cry of the raven or the arch of the summer sun. 



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