I stand on a grassy slope above a small lily-padded pond. I stare down into the shadowed water, the rubbery green not-quite circles glossy in the sparkling bits of late-afternoon sunlight that filter through the trees. There is movement in the water too quick to be identified, but I see delicate watery rings expanding and then bumping and rebounding as they meet the lily-pads and retreat. A perfect arched extension of leafy fern drapes over the pond, its triangular tip dipping almost to the water’s surface.
Everything about this moment takes me back to another time and place, across decades and across the country.
A vague imperfect path leads from where I stand down to the pond, and I follow its course with my eyes, imagining the feel of the dark rich earth between my fingers and beneath my weight. Imagining the shuddering skeletal remains of the maple leaves that have fallen and faded almost to invisibility. Imagining the curving invitation of the water’s edge. Imagining the hiding places to be found beneath the dampened feminine arcs of the ferns and the bulkier sterner comfort of the trees.
The hiding places to be found . . .
I feel the urge to walk that vague imperfect path along the secret curves of the water’s edge to a place of shadowed invisibility.
I feel the magic of this place.
I feel the pull of the past.
I stare into the swampish damp, blinking back tears.
Sometimes the pull of the past is so strong I think my heart will break.
I turn away.
I turn and wait for what comes next.
I watch as the future arrives and becomes the present.
Before my eyes.
I watch as the present races past me in a blur of golden hair and flashing legs and strength and determination and confidence. The beauty of this moment catches in my throat and scrapes me raw. The irresistible curve of the water’s edge is now before my eyes, and it swells and spills in a rush of pride and tenderness and love and gratitude.
I am overwhelmed that I get to live to see this moment.
I want to stay in this moment forever.
I feel the magic of this moment.
I feel the pull of this moment.
A moment that is now the past.
Sometimes the pull of the past is so strong I think my heart will break.
