His voice wavered yet his hand remained steady. It was as though he placed all his concentration on appearing unfettered in motion that he had forgotten how to speak. Outstretched palm and piercing eyes to follow, he expectantly drew close to both hope and grief, new and old.
The gust of air and the flash of chill drained the day, still warmth enfolded the land. A trickle of water near the eastern edge flushed into a stream and farther yet it became a river shallow. Later still it roared into river deep and rich, beauty blossomed where it had not before.
The man knelt as perceiving the waters nearby pushed life through his spirit. Peace cascaded over his arrival and he showed how turmoil and tragedy could release into restoration.
I leaned down, unsure of how to shake the hand of this nurishing gift. He was close and humble, layered and longing–he promised nothing to be certain beyond that he was here to stay. I shall walk with him to the river’s edge and allow roots to grow and branches to spread.
I placed my hand into his and whispered back to his mouthing silence, “Happy New Year.”
Welcoming 2017 with resolve and wonder. Might you, too?