It snowed again. And Miss Willow showed me how to be beautifully sad. Weeping magnificently Like Willows Do. Bending, not breaking.
Winter returned. As a blanket. Something warming. Like familiar things are. I suppose the longer Winter lasts, the more I will come to know and respect it.
There were so many comments on yesterday's post. So many stories. I like when that happens. I am thinking about fear today. How it is so much analyzed. How we so often look at the negative aspects of it. Try to overcome it. Avoid it. But it does imply a kind of sense. A sense of survival. The ability to recognize something. Even if it is a little bit about ourselves. Our connection to change in a sense. Uncertainty. I think it prepares us to delve into the unforeseen. And in all honesty we carry it with us, fear, although sometimes I think we are afraid to say it. Or mask it with some philosophy about it. The fear of fear is what it becomes. Fear is OK. If you understand it. It leads to the urge to confront it. Which is not to eliminate it but to stand there in spite of it. To get through. Fear is part of the nature of the beast, the seed of courage.
Mom is not afraid of death. Neither am I. I think we are afraid of how that might happen. The dying part. It wasn't easy for Dad. And though she doesn't remember much these days. She remembers that. And I can't take that from her. And so it is all so tangled up. But true stories are the most amazing. How it really goes. Like it will.
