Be Unprepared



Autumn leaves float and spiral to earth; earth now covered in a crunch of colour.  Daily, squirrels dash, mouths full of acorns or cones, dig holes in the lawn, scuff brown and gold leaves over their treasures. 

We too prepare for winter; cut fading foliage from the hostas, trim back the iris spears, snip the willow hedge, put away lawn furniture, all the while thinking about what’s ahead.

The funny part is we never know what’s ahead, not for certain, not really.  Like squirrels, we make our best guess, prepare for what we think will happen, prepare for a future from our experience of the past.  However, the future is not yet here and the past, well, it’s the past.

Today, the only thing that makes sense is to live in the now.  The only way to live is to be present in this day, fully present; aware of what is right here right now.  In this early morning, I hear the crunch of the dried leaves outside my window, smell the fragrance of morning coffee, touch the cat’s soft fur, hear her purr, watch the dark night slowly give way to the orange blue of dawn, see the neighbour’s light come on, hear cars going by on the way to work, watch the city lights fade into the coming day.

The only thing that makes sense to me is to live with being unable to prepare, to live with being unprepared for whatever may happen and to live the moments and days as they come to me. 

And so I shall.

Words and photo are © copyright Carol Steel.