Okay, there’s change, and then there’s change. There’s fast food and slow food. Radical departures from the norm, and then the normative flow of change nearly invisible to the most discerning eye.
But always, change, whether we see it or not, alters everything. I feel it, and am continuously surprised to find it in my aging body.
Nearly a month has passed since I put out my raw, unfired, fragile, destined-to-be-dissolved lump of clay, otherwise known as Buddha. Some days have been wet. Others windy. Some dry. I watched the sculpture dry around the edges, then watched as its surfaces turned to gloss in the gentle rain that our area is so (consistently) famous for. Still, the Buddha sits in its earthy equanimity.
As a dear friend who is about 15 years older than me is so fond of saying, sometimes with gleeful wonder, “I’m still here!”