Friday night before we gathered for dinner at the writers' retreat, I watched a herd of deer and their fawn leap along the hillside north of St. Bonaventure. They were ethereal on their climb to higher ground. Sunset riding their backs, their movement created waves within field grasses.
I took a walk to the labyrinth before breakfast Saturday morning. On my journey, a lone Monarch butterfly accompanied me. I watched as it "flipzagged" to my right. My first feeling was that it lifted my soul. Hope! Always hope! And secondly, I thought of catching butterflies one September decades ago for a middle school science project. The powder from gossamer wings a palpable memory left on my fingertips. Summer is readying to relinquish to fall. Sigh.
To leave the retreat early, gentle fields, August's last soft light, time and space to write, the deer and the butterfly to attend a wedding, created a bit of a conflict for me. In the end, I was buoyed and renewed by the bonds I share with my cousins. We are now the senior generation in our families. It was a feast to see their children, too and how they have transformed into adults--the children who are becoming us so unmindful of the passing of time. It was far more fun to see my clan members at a marriage celebration rather than a funeral.
As I drove home from the retreat, readied for the wedding, participated in the ceremony, greeted family and friends, met a new baby, shouted over the music, words begged to escape from a pen I did not hold in my hand--words that kept pushing against my flesh wanting to be birthed--perhaps with ecstasy, perhaps with pain, perhaps today they will slip out.
