As I drove down the interstate, tension twisted the muscles in my shoulders and neck. Overhead, the canopy of a late afternoon was a jumble of late winter storm clouds and early spring sunshine, ebbing and flowing under a backdrop of deep blue. An object to the right of the freeway caught my eye. Sun-swathed, a Mylar balloon twirled in a slow-moving ascent. Brightly colored, it brought to mind images of birthday parties, clowns and small town parades. Balloons seemed a part of such festive occasionstheir purpose, to bring smiles and levityto celebrate life. Too keyed up to go home, I drove out of the city; into the country and parked my car between two large fields, fenced with barbed wire. As I rolled down my windows fresh air wafted round me, carrying with it a panoply of spring fragrance. I closed my eyes, allowing the smell of rain-moistened earth and sun-warmed vegetation to float through my senses. Unawaresthe tension in my body eased away from mecarried on the same breeze that lifted the songs of birds found only outside the city reaches. Leaning back, I closed my eyes, as a calming sensation pulled me into a drowsy state, soothing my soul. Surprised at the simple beauty of a birds song, I sat up and gazed into the field. The movement of cloud shadows spun with sunlight poured over the sun-glistened field. Long blades of wild grass bent neath the fast-rushing feet of the wind. I watched as a butterfly bounced up from the field to flutter to another clump of wildflowers with small blossoms of a bright Easter egg yellow. Like the Mylar balloon adrift over the city, or the butterfly gliding over a verdant field bright with wildflowersboth are symbols of life, celebrated. And life celebrated, is life renewed. I started the car and drove away from the field, and smiled. ~*~ Copyright 2006 Kathy Pippig Harris |
