Reaching Out

The heavy snow and ice of the past few days has made foraging for food harder for all the wild creatures living here around the lake.  A few nights ago, Fanny and her three baby raccoons arrived just after snowfall to make their usual rounds of the deck and found very little to scavenge. Her little ones were still naive enough to press their paws against my hands on the glass doors as I knelt down to see them and I was heartened that there was leftover cornbread to toss out for woodland manna.  Everything here has settled into a deep stillness broken only by the calling of the crows.  Usually so standoffish and independent, the shortage of food has lured even them closer to the deck where they eye the feeders and scraps I have put out--not yet daring to actually come on up to feed, but arguing and whirling around among themselves in some deep crow discussion about whether or not they should.

 I sympathize with the crows. Whenever we endeavor to branch out from our usual way of being, there is a lot of anxiety and discussion pro and con about the  worthiness and wisdom of our choices. There is a part of us that so wants to feel assured that the path we have chosen is the right one, the safe one, the best.  One of the biggest lessons age brings is the understanding that we will never know.  We are asked to take life's invitations much like those young raccons--with trust and acceptance that what we want, what we would like to choose, is the path to follow.  There will be no guarantees, we may encounter hardships and challenges, but the longing we experience can be trusted.  The New Year, despite its frozen beginning, is a wonderful opportunity for new paths. Maybe this year we will come down out of the whirl of indecision, and reach out for whatever it is we truly desire.