The little red maple tree outside my window is waving at me.  Are you trying to tell me something?  Is there something I should talk about?  What is your message.  “Go with the flow,” she says.

It is one of those days that seemed packed with duties, fun, people, and appointments.  Now changes have yawned open the middle of the day.  All dressed up and no party coming to visit.  I love unexpected open empty time.  Then all of a sudden I’m overwhelmed with all the projects I’ve been pushing into the closet that fall out and tumble on top of me when I peek in.

When young, it seems we dash into the waves, want to stand on the board and scream with the surf.  As the years on the body buffet our tired feet, the idea of a slow canoe ride, or a float above a slow lapping lake in the sun is the excitement sought.

We move, we rotate, we revolve in ever-moving cycles, this human ride.  Slow mo love waves.