New Light

A few weekends ago I had a wonderful time with some good friends at the brand new Stratton Brook Hut, which is part of the Maine Huts and Trails system. Our bunk room looked out over the Carrabassett Valley toward Sugarloaf Ski Area, where I've had the good fortune to ski since I was 3 years old. The dining room of the main lodge looked out over the Bigelow Range. It truly is a beautiful spot, a lovely space to unwind and recharge.
The picture above is of the sunrise on that Sunday morning. And the piece below is something that came during a busy school week following our weekend getaway.
 

New Light

I awaken, having the sense that

dawn is near.

I stretch tight muscles, tentatively

putting my feet onto the floor.

I open the door and gaze out over

the valley of my youth,

noticing the hint of colors caressing

the distant ridgeline,

bare tree branches dancing against

the backdrop.

My eyes take it in as my brain ponders

the meaning of it all.

I lean on the railing of the overlook

and settle in to simply watch and wait.

The colors become deeper, then begin to lighten

as the rocks, trees, and snowy spaces

become more distinct and defined.

I breathe in the brisk morning air and

wrap my jacket more closely around

my body.

I wonder, then, where is the sun?

When will the new light fully spread its

warmth and illumination on

this glorious scene?

And just as I think I must go inside,

there it is!

Ah, the sweetness of that new light,

bringing with it possibility, hope,

and renewal.

New light sweetly enveloping

all that I know and love.

New light illuminating all

 that is

right here,

right now.

Sarah Carlson

March 20, 2013

Dear Sarah

                                                               (photo by Emma Carlson)

This weekend I've really been missing Barry. I have experiences I want to share and events I want to process. This feeling has been one of gentle sadness, simply something to be felt and honored. I just so badly wanted to talk to him. I miss that conduit, the give and take of conversation with that person I loved and who loved me back, who just got me as I am.
I'm taking a writing class that is part of the Maine Writing Project and one assignment we have this session is to write something in a voice that has been silent. I've done something like this before (see 2010 entry titled A Conversation) in which I wrote to Barry and he 'wrote' back. When I wrote that piece I was in the very early stages of actually allowing my self to grieve. I decided to 'talk' to him again and, after a time of journaling during which I wrote to him, the following piece came. This time it was quite amazing how different it was to converse with him. And Barry, in his mellow and caring way, knew just what I needed to hear.

                                                                Dear Sarah,

It has been so long since I’ve been there

to put my arm around you and watch our children,

to feel your gentle touch and see your warm smile,

to share your love.

I know you understand that my love is still strong,

that it is a part of who you are.

 I know that you’ve wrapped it up

and keep it tenderly

right where you need it to be.

I smile as I witness you learning to love yourself.

I marvel as you intrepidly

keep putting one foot in front of the other.

You are sweet and strong, lovely and learned,

caring and kind, tender and talented.

I knew these things from the moment we met,

but now you can recognize and honor them for yourself.

They are inherently yours.

I am so proud of you and I know that you feel pride, too.

I am here and you are there -

each where we are supposed to be.

You may not know why, but it is good and right

that you now realize

it doesn’t matter.

It just is as it is and you are okay.

You chose to go into the sorrow you felt so strongly

in the days and years after my death -

a sorrow that unlocked a need to unravel and examine

other tragedies in your life.

But all that has slowly been transformed

and enfolded into your core

of beauty and light.

Keep going dear one.

You have many more learnings to share, students to teach

mountains to climb, roads to pedal,

words to write, memories to make.

I wish you well

as you continue to free yourself to feel deep joy,

experience new love, delight in happy times,

and immerse in the wonders of a

world that, fortunately,

includes you.

With deep love and admiration,

Barry

Sarah Carlson    March 2, 2013