The Walk

Sometimes reality and the creative become one.  This is one such occasion where I experienced something that lent itself to be told in narrative.

THE WALK          

Childhood memories of getting lost in the woods and walking for hours with little or no purpose are, for the most part, just that, childhood memories.    The closest such escape that I have found in my adulthood is walking.  Unlike my childhood, I can take some distractions with me, in this case, an mp3 player.  Playing music, however, is not unlike the companionship that one would have had with one’s friends in those days past.  The music fades in and out as our thoughts and reflection increase and decrease in intensity.

One late evening I was walking through the park.  The circuit is little more than a mile and 7 laps is the average that I walk on weekends.  This particular day I started later in the afternoon and evening was approaching.  I started knowing that I would be chasing the sun as it would set just about the time I would finish.  I found myself, for the most part, alone in the park. 

As each lap progressed I noticed a scene unfold, not unlike frames of a film, each lap revealing more of the picture that was to conclude before my eyes.  At first I saw two young girls, high school age, lay out a table cloth on a picnic table.  This table is situated under trees and looks out upon the lake.  They were dressed up and it was around the time school was coming to an end for the year.  Each lap around the park revealed more and more of the arrangements being laid out.  Table cloth, candles, linen, silverware and more, were revealed before my eyes frame by frame. 

My thoughts went to the efforts being made to…what?  To entertain boyfriends.  Most likely.  How nice, yet temporal.  How fleeting.  How seemingly important.  The thoughts of lost youth, of wasted time came to mind.  Reflecting on my own past, what would I have felt like?  It would have been important to me but lost in the memories of the past over time and its significance would be diminished to a lost memory or a memory carefully forgotten.

The sunset was winning the race and my laps were drawing to a close.  I was approaching the scene now lit carefully with the glow of candles and I could see that there were now four people sitting in the distance at the table, looking at each other, the sunset, and the lake.  I did not want to be an intruder, I also was unwilling to relinquish my race with the sun and my hard-fought exercise.

I approached closer and tried to walk past in a way that would not intrude on the privacy or carefully set tableau before me. My feelings of lost youth, of fleeting time and superficiality went away to the revealed magical moment before my eyes.  I was hard pressed to keep from staring, I was in awe at the beauty of the moment.  Before me were the two young girls sitting radiantly at the table, the joy was one that would withstand time.  Before them sat two women, older than them.  They were glowing, radiant and joyful.  It all came crashing down in my mind.  It was not what I had perceived it to be, it was significantly more profound.  I realized, at that moment, that is was Mother’s Day.  Of one thing I am sure, there are five people that will never forget that night, for if I still remember it this vividly a decade later, the participants themselves will never forget.  This, for me, will always be what I think of when I think of Mother’s Day.  It was a magical scene, and one of intense simplicity and beauty.  It was a moment not unlike the wonders of intentionally getting lost in the woods as  a child, a bridge built between the past and what has become, and upon reflection, what will be.