Yesterday, there was a snowshoeing event at the park beside our house. I didn't go. The last time I wore snowshoes I was trekking to and from Bath Elementary School. The irony would be too much for me to bear. Instead, we all dressed up nice and warm and went out to the park after dark. It's quiet. Well lit. Fun to explore. The moon is in her shiny dress of silver and blue.
This winter, to me, has been a time of embracing the new and remembering the old. I don't like to rush through my life like a banshee on fire. I like to take things very slowly, get to know the lay of the land, watch it change and grow. This winter I have taken the time to reflect on my past. I have sorted through my motivations that lead to the decisions I've made. I have watched my children grow. I have reveled in their independence of mind. Their kind natures toward me, each other, their father, and family, is the root of much of my joy. I can see my personal pitfalls and triumphs have not been the ruination of us all. This is a good and hopeful thing.
I don't go for these lifestyles that are always running rampant with franticness. I don't like to live behind that façade. My life is a garden. I need to feel the soil between my fingers. I like to be healthy. I like to do healthy things. If I am having a bad day, I do not want to project it to the rest of the world.
Don't expect to be able to exploit me and call it love, in other words. Don't film me naked and call it romance. Don't expect me to bleed for your personal entertainment. Don't expect to see my vagina, in other words.
Expect me to be out in the open-air, toiling away for the miraculous, living my life in secret. Caring for what I have.
Do not ask for whom my garden grows. It grows for me.