Just a little story today to cheer you.
My mother told me that she went out for lunch recently and met a woman who, at age 90, fairly crackled with life and creative spirit.
“If you lived here, you’d be friends with her for sure,” she told me on the phone.
Turns out, the woman’s father was a poet who won the Welsh Eisteddfod, and the woman – my as yet unmet friend – is a poet and artist herself.
My mother told her that when I was young, I used to go out for a walk and then come home and go straight upstairs to write a poem about it. Then I’d come down and hand the poem to my mother who would say, “That’s nice, Katie – but what does it MEAN?”
The woman nodded sympathetically and said,
“That’s a writer. They just have to write.”
And with that comment, and my mother’s story about meeting the poet, my heart warms with gratitude and also with a kind of reverence for the unfolding story of time.
In time, we come to understand each other.
In time, we love all the deeper.
Wait long enough and the understanding comes.