Reflected hope

Reflections are amazing. Earlier this year, polished granite provided a reflection of my now-5-year-old Joey that sent my mind into contemplative motion. But, to set the stage: imagine a slight breeze - cool enough for a jacket, yet not enough for knocking knees and shivering shoulders - while you watch the gentle roll of water as if in a streaming aqueduct. At one end there is a fountain, at the other a rectangular pool, and in between long runs of channeling that cascade down a slope. The natural tendency for anyone near a pool of water - and especially a cascading pool of water - is to find something that can navigate the very water you admire. 

Reflection near cascades.  senk 2013

Cascading fountain.  senk 2013

And so too, did Joey. He snatched a leaf or two blown from seemingly nowhere, but that had landed on the stone steps near at hand, and happily tossed them to their fate upon the surface of the water. Three or four drops awaited these nature-made boats as they slowly descended to the final pool.  The slopes were so slight, that one run took more than 10 minutes. And yet, Joey stood stalwart and watched the delicate leaves take plunge after plunge. Each time they reemerged, an act for which Joey harbored hope.

Joey's leaf afloat upon the water.  senk 2013

And is it not so, too, for us, friend? Even in the most stressing and trying of situations, do not we wait and harbor hope - longing to see that reemergence of something that cannot be beaten or stifled? Something that exudes beauty and truth and passion for life-giving opportunities.

So, even when the immediate seems longer than a dark corridor and as uncertain, too, remember the reflection of a little boy watching a loved leaf as it navigates churning water. And, harbor hope, too.