Reflections

If you could only see what I see today, form my upstairs "office;" the fog is about to roll in, but has not crossed over the canyon yet, but like the bad guy in the horror film, it is coming.

Today I find myself with little strength and have used my weakened physical state to do mental aerobics instead.  I pulled dusty journals from their forgotten places and took a tour back in time.  I stopped a time or two (or three or four), eyes brimmed with the pain of memories, rough and real, pausing to decide if I wanted to read on; old wounds are best left closed, no?  But I read on with the motivation of knowing that in the right hands all things are made new; not just repaired--made new.

New is so refreshing; clean, crisp, stain-free, spotless and beautiful.  New beats the old any day.  But sometimes what's old is too familiar to let go of, for fear of the unknown new.  Sometimes old is too comfortable to part with, as it takes much effort to launch forward into newness.  Old is predictable, new is not.  Old is old, and new is new.

I am thankful for new; places new, memories new, life anew.  I am thankful for old taking an exit; old places, old memories, old life; goodbye.  Sometimes Old comes back to bite me, but New has taught me a few tricks of her own.  New is full of freedom, but Old is just that, old.

How is that?  The fog has readily rolled away and now I can see the other side of the canyon, icicles frozen from waterfalls once weeping.  Perhaps the fog was old and the wind brought something new in.