One of these days, in this newsletter, there will be a poem about our gravel roads. The refrain I have is to not travel too quickly over them. Those pings, the dust, the mud, the wild flowers alongside, are all intentional, to slow us down, to catch our attention. I remember as a young driver speeding down the icy gravel road we lived on, only to find myself in a 360 spin. That is a wake up call. If you can, stop on your gravel road, roll down the windows, listen and take a breath. Or if you are walking, meander, don’t stride. Last summer there were so many wildflowers I drove past, too quickly, and then someone mowed---and they were gone. If only I had stopped to simply breathe them in and revel in the natural beauty that emerged, completely unbidden. 

Our roads were never meant to be smooth or even paved. They are intended to have dips, highs, lows, ruts, dust, and dirt. And be proud of your dents and wounds for they are our teachers and our strength. They give us insight not only into our own healing but also empathy for the wounds of our friends, family, community. Most of the time, I am the only one on that short stretch of road, which is as it should be. For all the many people in our lives, there are moments when we look around and we are alone. Relish those times when you can be solely with yourself. Remember to thank your dented body for keeping you on this earth and praise your indomitable spirit that keeps you getting up every day showering (hopefully:), getting dressed and beginning again. 

Well, time to go, there is a road waiting for me to visit. 

Be well my friends, Mary Lou Nugent

Hallelujah

Everyone should be born into this world happy

and loving everything.

But in truth it rarely works that way.

For myself, I have spent my life clamoring toward it.

Hallelujah, anyway I'm not where I started.

And have you been trudging like that, sometimes

almost forgetting how wondrous the world is

and how miraculously kind some people can be?

And have you too decided that probably nothing important

is ever easy?

Not, say, for the first sixty years.

Hallelujah, I'm sixty now, and even a little more,

and some days I feel I have wings.

Mary Oliver