June 20, 2014

          My morning walks are the best. They lead me to places that are always new and alive, peaceful and beautiful.  The neighborhoods and areas around me are all different from each other.  There are small pockets that have their own feel, long neighborhoods with gorgeous gardens that end in a cul de sac (where I was this morning), big townhouses that abut the bayou, small brick houses with pots and pots of plants and vines in the yard, and so much more!  Some mornings, I stay in the same area, meandering throughout  the streets and appreciating all the different styles of houses, landscaping, and exterior design. 

           Today, though, I found myself walking out to the main street, and crossing against early morning traffic to a street named ‘Crewilla.’  I wondered why I hadn’t been there yet. It was beautiful!!!  Peaceful, large homes with gorgeous lawns, and at the end of the street, the bayou.  Water!  There were a few houses along the water, and then, an empty lot with a chain link fence and an open, welcoming gate.  There were no signs posted, and no tire tracks from any vehicles inside, so I walked in and headed down to the water. 

Before I got there, I spotted a kid’s bicycle lying on the top step of several going down to a dilapidated dock.  A fellow intruder!  We saw each other about the same time, and all I could think of was Norman Rockwell.  Here was a young boy, about 9 or 10, shirtless, shoeless, cutoffs, and tan, just there by the water, waiting for his buddy to show up so they could fish.

“Have you ever caught anything here?”

“Yeah, we caught four catfish and one speckled trout once.”

“Ever see dolphins?”

“Oh, yeah!  Me and my brother saw one a couple of weeks ago, right over there!  It came right up to the dock.  It freaked us out.  It was pretty cool.”

“It’s nice that this is here.  I’m guessing it’s OK to be here.  Do you come down her a lot?”

“Yeah, I’ve been coming since I was a kid.  My dad used to bring me down here.  He taught me how to fish.”

          When he spoke these last two sentences, his face and body changed dramatically.  His whole being was overcome with so much sadness, it was palpable.

“Why doesn’t he come with you now?”

“Umm..he hurt his foot or something.”

Deeper sorrow.

“I am so sorry.  You look so sad when you talk about him!”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.  I miss him a lot.”

Just on the verge of tears (both of us!), I wanted to reach out and hug him as tightly as I could, to console him, love him, and somehow ease his sadness.  But I was already a stranger in his territory, and though I felt that he would have appreciated it (we can all use a hug!), I didn’t.  There are so many rules against physicality with children lately that we all seem to have our walls up more than is necessary.  That makes me sad, too.

So instead of hugging, we just talked some more; about dolphins, another swimming hole, and about his siblings, his mom, and again, his dad.  He was candid and polite.  My heart was aching.   What a beautiful child, what a beautiful moment. 

He’d been there first, and I didn’t’ want to overstay my welcome, so I decided to head out, and leave him to his favorite fishing spot and private getaway.

“What’s your name?”

“Adam.”

“I’m Maria.  Thanks for sharing your spot with me.  I hope you have a good day.  And that you get to see your dad soon.”

“Thanks.”

And as I was walking away, “It was nice meeting you…… 

The tears welled up, and the pain in my chest was thick and heavy.  My heart felt like his face had looked.  It took my breath away!  I cried most of the way home, saying a prayer of peace for Adam, and a prayer of gratitude for the experience, to have spent time with such a loving child.  I am always grateful when I follow the pull that takes me to where I am meant to be. 

I love my morning walks!