Praise Song for the Ragged Season

All the children are gone now, packed off to their own lives, and my husband, a teacher, has settled into the new school year. I am the only one here who is still a little bit lost and a little bit ragged.

I stand at the window looking out, trying to remember the truths that nature always brings home. That what lies before me is not all there is. That time is ever passing, and not only when I notice. That strife and pain are no more unexpected than pleasure and joy. That merely by breathing I belong to the eternal.

I watch the bald cardinals feeding their fledglings, and I know they feel awful. I remind myself of what I cannot remind them—that raggedness is just the first step toward a new season of flight.