The Sweet Songs of June

For the first time in a long time, I had the opportunity to spend the better part of a week at our lake house near Eaton, Ohio marked by quiet and solitude. Usually, my time at “the lake” is spent with my children and grandchildren who come to share in the exuberant fun that lake time brings. Grocery lists, wet towels, sandy feet are all part of the anticipation of a full house. My pre-occupation of anticipating joys of pint sized enthusiasm are followed by fulfillment of grand sized delight. My time is defined by their time, which I love.

This week, other than with my husband who tends to become lost in the therapeutic and busy tasks of loving this morsal of earth, I’ve been accompanied by songs of solitude. Birds singing the dawn of a new day, the steady symphony of a Spring rain, and the calm ripples of weekday waters frame a rare seclusion for me. To be honest, it’s been a bit unsettling which I find peculiar. Usually, I welcome the opportunity to be alone and rest in the abundant gifts of nature. This particular stillness has forced me to work through a restlessness I didn’t know I had. Even the book I was reading felt shallow.

Stripped of schedule and obligations, this “just be” time has yielded an uncharacteristic fidgetiness. I even cleaned out the fireplace from a year’s worth of ashes and then then sat on the laundry room floor spending far too much time reading the owner’s manual error indications of the washing machine that wouldn’t turn on. It was only when I forced myself to remain present to my disquiet did I begin to understand. What do I do with so much unrest?  I’ve found, of late, my worries, both micro and macro lay heavier on my heart than usual. The brokenness of the world has found its way through the staunch armor of hope I believe in and write about so often.

Yet, because of my inability to change anything, I sat in solitude anyway. I thought about all the great poets and writers like Walt Whitman or Henry David Thoreau who embraced existential opportunities to blend the shadows of pain with the resurrecting splendor of nature. And so, I went for a walk. I heard a woodpecker making way through the hard bark of a hickory tree. I imagined for a moment what food or delectable fruit was guaranteed beyond the hardness of the wood. In the distance, I saw the glide of a hawk’s outstretched wings soaring just below the clouds. I felt pretty certain that bird would meet her pursuit in due time. And then, the ladybug appeared. The gifts of reassurance were all around.

I realized as I stayed present to my surroundings, those of us having hard time with shared pain and grief must continue to trust that good will prevail. In my time of discontent, I was delighted by the wings of grandeur and the sturdy pursuit of a woodpecker enduring despite stubborn hardness. And, the hopeful appearance of a ladybug rests all on her own. They persist, and so must we. For any of you who may feel the same way, I wish for you to look up or rest in the simple abundance which surrounds us all. This day may hold all the magic and companionship for our restless hearts; perhaps showing us the way in how to ground ourselves even deeper into the resurrective power of the sweet songs of June.