Starting over after the fire

The canyon behind my friend Ginita’s house in San Diego burned in the last round of fires there.  As we walked her dog along the trail/fire road and saw a sea of blackened brush the contrast with the new growth was more than beautiful; it was inspiring.

Amidst the charred wood a tall, dried white grass and cheerfully yellow flowers grow.  For a visual person like myself, the stark distinction is breathtaking.  And then, as air refilled my lungs, I was struck by the wonderful and unalterable way nature has of beginning again.  Every death has within it the promise of new life.

I don’t know what this canyon looked like before the fire.  Somehow I believe it couldn’t have been as striking untouched as it is now, having gone through this bit of adversity.  There are people I know with this same deep beauty; exuding a complex magnificence that only reveals itself after walking through the fire and being nourished by the ash.

When we really love something, we love it in many ways.  We love people not just for the pleasure of being around them, but also for the many different windows they open for us to peer through, for being able to see life–and ourselves–through their eyes.

Walking on the beach I look out at the ocean and see a vast universe, an incredible power, a weightless world of possibility.  Then I see this surfer, sitting, watching, thinking very different thoughts than I. 

I imagine him looking at the ocean with the admiration of a lover, trying to better understand the nature of her waves and why they move the way they do.  He is peering through a different window than I am, and I love being a witness to that.  His joy and appreciation doubles my own.  And that is one of the many wonders of being human.

Ahhhh...

Mom and I arrived in San Diego yesterday for a girl’s weekend with long-time friend and mom’s ex-business partner Ginita.  After a leisurely lunch of chicken Caesar salad and chardonnay, we headed for the beach.

The ocean breeze ran through our hair, the fresh salt air filled our lungs, and the fine sand kissed our toes with every step.  There are few things as pleasing to feet as walking barefoot on a sandy beach. 

Add to that popping the washed-up kelp bubbles like a child jumping on plastic bubble-wrap and I felt as though I was 4, rather than 40.  A fabulous day, indeed.