LOOK MUM, NO HANDS
On waking heavy and finding beauty anyway.
Have you ever woken in the morning with the pain of your life’s experiences sitting heavy on your chest?
Every questionable decision, every wrong turn turned?
Get up, I say to myself.
Get your feet on the ground.
Feet on floorboards, a metre from the earth.
Walk out on to the bare ground outside.
I look skywards and there, stretching out across the valley, an arc of the most beautiful, vibrant rainbow I have ever seen.
It has landed on the creek below. A veritable pot of gold.
Where the water flows.
I run to the house for my camera. Knowing that as the shutter clicks, I won’t capture the feeling I have inside.
Is it gratitude?
The wonder of nature in all her mysterious, glorious beauty.
Had I woken twenty minutes later I might have missed it entirely.
The sky is dark with cloud, full of impending rain. But through the darkness the sun shines, still on its morning upward trajectory.
The rainbow becomes brighter and brighter. It forms a perfect half circle that begins over the hill on the way to town and joins the land at the creek below.
I return to the house at a jog, collect my compost bucket and continue down to the garden. The light show continues and right before my eyes, a second arc appears above the first.
It feels like watching a child on a bike release the handlebars and shout “look mum, no hands”.
Now I feel like the child. As if I haven’t seen this collation of light beams before.
The cat and I stand barefoot together in the garden. Me glancing up as I pop chilli from their stems and deposit them into my pocket.
My fluffy companion weaving and bumping around my ankles.
She wants breakfast.
The light changes. The sun disappears and a few random droplets touch my skin. I gather up the compost bucket and walk back to the house as heavy rain comes down loudly on the tin roof.
I keep feeling this moment.
The incredible beauty of a place. Even when there are mornings when the weight on your chest is real and the day feels like something to be endured rather than lived.
And then the light does something extraordinary and bare feet on grass remind you that you are here. That this is enough. That beauty doesn’t ask permission or wait for a better moment.
It just arrives.
Rainbows are moments to treasure. Beautifully written
The morning seemed memorable for you. I love the part where you talked about the sun and water.