It's coming to me.

I have been working in my head on what to write about.
A few flashes of ideas that kinda die out after the second paragraph.

I walked the dog this morning after putting jack on the bus. I decided to stand in the cold by the river and just wait.
wait, waiting.... yeah waiting for a message or sign.
Not necessarily from anyone or in reference to anything in particular.
It could be I was waiting for inspiration, motivation, DIVINE INTERVENTION.
I like to feel MOVED, GUIDED by something ELSE.

It doesnt happen often but I have felt it.

Silly things such as "I need to kiss you, right now"
"I will hug this child til he screams "LET GO MAAWM"
"I am going to repeat myself in class until the lost soul in the back smiles at me and is WITH ME."
That happens I must say.
I feel rewarded at work maybe once a week.
My rewards at work are much more valuable than many jobs I can imagine.
I have people learning something. FROM ME.
I see excitement, intensity and pride.
That is all good.

OK Back to the river.
I stood there freezing hands and nose.
Honey dog ramming around shitting in every spot any other dog in the past century has been.
I decide to "BE THE MOMENT"
Ok here goes.
there are flocks of Geese? honking and flying in formation over head. V shaped.
Interesting, I thought they went to Miami this time of year?
The trees that are along the bank are so totally tall, and bare.
I remember in the summer they look huge and full and majestic.
Summer time they block all view of the river and beyond. They rustle with thousands of leaves the size of a pie pan.
Now they are transparent and quiet. I hear some creaking from their mighty trunks, groans actually. I wonder if they are giving me a message.?
Are the trees my divine intervention?
The smell of the water off the river is nothing like the spring smells. or even fall or summer smells for that fact.
Winter smell of the river is just plain clean.
I describe river winter water as CLEAN>
Icy, No visual plant life or wildlife so I guess we can call it clean.
The worst smelling time at the river is spring. Just dead stuff mixing with fresh living stuff and warming up to a slow simmer. chilled overnight to a warm batter during the day lends to the smell of ..... spring river bed.
The dog continues to be magnetically drawn to one end of the clearing with the intensity of dowsing rod.
Then pokes up her head and runs back to me with her floppy dingbat blonde look.
Does she have DIVINE INTERVENTION calling her to do her investigations of nothing, then something, then nothing again.
I walk a bit and find a patch of ice that is about 10 feet long and 5 five wide.
It is a puddle that has frozen over.
Interesting, when was the last time I intentionally "walked on ice?"
Here goes.
Truly the sound is what made this Divine Intervention humbling.
First it was just slick under my feet, and then the color of the ice changed and then it began to ting, ting, and then it broke like glass.
I could embellish here and say I fell, but I didnt. I moved maybe 6 inches to the bottom of the puddle. my feet surrounded by broken ice.
Sharp, jagged, clear and making the sounds of glass dropping.
I liked this adventure and played with the ice puddles for a few minutes. The sounds of the ice breaking and the hidden frozen mud puddles that were under the thin layer of frozen water.
I called the dog back, and put her leash back on.
She was happy she got to run a bit and seemed pleased I wasn't yanking her to "C'mon you dumb blond lets get home its friggin freezing out here!"
She seemed to give me a knowing look.
Honey might have the right idea, maybe we all need to be taken for a walk a few times a day to just ramble among the out of doors.
Maybe she gets her Divine Intervention three times a day along with her walk with the trees and geese and ice patches.
I had a certain amount of peace for the rest of the morning.
I began this post and snuggled with my hubby a few minutes longer before he went to work.
Hmmm, I like looking for something, when I dont know where to find it.
definition: "Seek and ye shall find."

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
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by Robert Frost (1923)
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Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.