I walked in the late afternoon of Mother’s Day, noticing the shiny green leaves dancing with the breezes blowing in from the north.   I gulped the fresh air and felt my limbs slide into rhythmic strides.  After all the food and a delicious nap, outdoors pulled me there like a magnet.  It was not a forced walk with time being an issue, rather a lazy walk with photographic eyes scanning everything.  There were reds and whites arranged in floral patterns on reborn trees.  There were small trees framed around giant trees.  There was sunshine, so I stopped…too late, a massive cloud blotted out the momentarily perfect scene.  I took pictures but a problem with my computer put them all out into the land called Deleted.

The sky looked more like Fall than Spring, enormous piles of clouds moved quickly overhead.  The wind was chilly but not the piercing kind.  My mind went to wondering.

How many people have walked this same area before me, before sidewalks were laid down, before trees were cleared, before cities were built.  How many people have walked on this planet since its creation.  Yet not all of them are alive anymore.  Someday I will not be alive and many others will walk this route.  Perhaps in the future people won’t even walk.

How many people have put time and energy into making my life as comfortable as it is?  I live in a house made by carpenters using raw materials made by others.  I ate in a restaurant today, served by a waiter bringing me food prepared by a chef.  We drove to the restaurant in my car made by many individuals with parts provided by many, many others.   How many people are responsible for the easy life I have?

How is it that trees can produce fresh leaves in Spring?  They are not re-cycled leaves bearing the scars of winter, but brand new ones.  How is it that a woman can carry another life inside for nine months?  How is it that life continues, but people do not?

How is it that I only have one person I call mother when there were so many that “mothered” me along the way.  They cared and nurtured me.  Why don’t they have a special day?

These questions are too much for me, I am not meant to understand everything.  I am, however, meant to wonder and be delighted by an afternoon walk on a brisk, sunny Mother’s Day.