A Night of Appreciation

You cannot find beauty unless you appreciate beauty. You cannot find friendship you appreciate others. You cannot find love unless you appreciate loving and being loved. If you wish abundance, appreciate life.

William R. Miller

The night is again with me and I find that the moods and fears of the last night have disappeared and I am again in a state of expectancy. Today, I wandered with my husband up into the mountains of the Blue Ridge and experienced the joy of the primitive. While it was hot and steamy, there was a wonder about it all. I was away from work. I was away from people. All that was there was my husband, my dog, my Porche and the open, winding roads.

As we traveled over the wilderness-like roads I was reminded of Mother and the roots from which I emerged. I tried to imagine the road's pavement disappearing from my road and sense that time when in the mid-1600's bands of people sought another way of life. The majesty of the mountains that surrounded me and cuddled me with coolness in comparison to the heat of civilization was quite comforting. I felt alive and ready for anything that might come my way.

There is a sense of nostalgia when one feels the earth. A remembering that is cellular and has little to do with history in the common sense of history. A knowing of your ancestors in your bones and in your muscles. I think about the wonder of the people who came before me. I wonder about their lives and their drives. Why did they choose to journey to a new land and leave everything behind them? It is not like today when I can chat on instant messenger with my grandchildren. It is not like today when I can call my sister who is three hours away by car and chat for an hour. It is not like today, when wars become visible on TV and the Internet. How did they live in the isolation?

And then I look up at the mountains and down into the streams and I wonder: how can I live in the intensity of today's civilization? The peace was so intense like the wail of the train when you are not used to it. Or, it was like the hoot of the owl late at night when one is in the country. When you are used to the city, the country sounds noisy. When you are used to the country, the city sounds noisy. Each has its own sense of being alone. I am not sure which is better. Both are good for a while. However, returning to town, I longed for my air conditioning as the heat climbed and the humidity hung down on the car like a threatening invisible cloud.

And tonight I pour a cup of coffee and add a little bourbon and I am thankful that I can walk in both worlds - the city and the country. That is very much like my mother and I am glad that I have that legacy.

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