Tea with Goldfinch

On Remembering

These days, mornings arrive as a whisper; more of a stirring into being than an awakening. Gone are the days of alarm clocks and chatter announcing the new day and filling the early hours with plans and the excitement of possibilities.

Now the morning light creeps in slowly, tinged with nostalgia and carrying wisps of melancholy. This transition has been harder than I imagined.

Photo by Abby Wynberg and Cam Seguin of Summit & Sage

We dream of the freedom of having our own time; of choosing what we want; of wandering through the day on our terms. And yet, when the time comes, it arrives wrapped in grief. Layers of memories, and whispers of remember when carried on the wind, dropping at our feet like flightless birds.

Another day for me.

I feel like I should be celebrating the triumph, and yet part of me feels empty and a bit lost. A day for me. What could that possibly look like?

My mind jumps to its usual stories. Tales of who I used to be and all I used to do. It’s a powerful narrative. But it’s caught in a loop of untruths, isn’t it? My heart knows better, I suspect. I sense there’s much more out there. But where?

As I sit cradling my morning tea, a rustling in the Katsura tree outside my window catches my attention. I watch the leaves shimmy and the branches twitch until a goldfinch emerges from the green depths.

Remember.

The word drifts into my consciousness.

Remember who you are.

I watch the Goldfinch dance through the leaves, and suddenly he stops. Sensing something, he turns to the window and seems to be looking at me. He tilts his head and nods before turning back into the tree and disappearing from sight.

Remember who I am.

As the words settle into my heart and mind, I wonder if that’s the secret to this time.

What if this season of me is about remembering — not only who I used to be as a mother, but before that; me as myself, before the roles and the rules. And even before that; remembering all the women who came before me, and whose wisdom flows through me.

Remember.

It seems a better idea than wallowing and feeling stuck in what used to be.

I finish my tea and cast one last look outside. The goldfinch is still in the tree. Making his way to the end of a branch, he pauses and raises his head, his voice piercing the morning air with glorious song. He lifts his wings and takes flight. I feel a smile crease my face as I rise from the chair. My day is calling. I have a life to create.

Photo by Paul Crook on Unsplash