“I am not fearless. I'm alive today because I've learned to embrace fear as a positive catalyst in my life. As I dwell on the threshold of darkness, I might be scared, but I don't run away.” “IF I DIE, it will be in the most glorious place that nobody has ever seen.”

Jill Heinerth

A sleep-in Sunday. Frank asks me What the heck were you listening to in bed last night? I woke up and heard a voice talking about being trapped in the ice of a cave. . .” Yes, I am so appreciating this wonderful memoir, Into the Planet: My Life as a Cave Diver and I turned it on last night when I couldn’t sleep. What an inspiration Jill Heinerth is. And I woke looking forward to writing my weekly Aim for Astonishing writing prompt, having started it late last night, based on a quote by the artist Louise Bourgeois about the color of freedom. I sat down to work on it, but the dogs needed to go out, and I thought I better take them. The sun was bright, lighting the October yard, and I realised I wanted to go for a bike ride. My youngest agreed to take the dogs for their walk so I could ride my bike. And I got ready. But then I thought, no, I want to go on the river, after all. And that’s what I did. I went to the river and took out my single kayak and launched off on my two hour kayak taking pictures of the autumn Charles. And I thought about my unwritten prompt. And realised, this was the color of my freedom, this day. I had felt torn by “shoulds.” I should walk the dogs with my daughter. I should watch the tennis final with my husband. . . I should finish my blog first. . . but, what I wanted was exactly the freedom I felt on the river, going entirely at my own pace, stopping, in the stillness, whenever I wanted to really see something. I met one fisherman. That’s all. So, this Sunday Sanctuary, my church. The foliage was spectacular, and I paddled through it, immersed in the reflection of the colors, I was steeped in red and gold and green and blue. So many turtles sunning their heads and legs on the logs and rocks. But they were skittish. I couldn’t catch a picture of the dozens I passed. I went through the lily pads, I went into the big lake where the bald eagle lives. There were, at a great distance, two fishermen in one boat, the rest, stillness. I stopped paddling in the middle of the lake and closed my eyes and felt the sun on my back and I breathed in, so deeply, and I felt my grandmotherhood. I saw what it means: I saw the generations so far away from me now, the young generations from me and from Frank, our grandchildren and great grandchildren and more. And I felt, they will know something of me, who I am today. The will know, their grandmother was a writer, a poet, a photographer, a lover of natural beauty. And I didn’t see the eagle at the lake. But I felt she was seeing me. I paddled toward home. The great blue heron was feeding. I wanted her picture. She kept landing, feeding, taking off in flight. Then she let me get closer and closer. She let me have her picture, and one of the turtles too. And in the sunshine and splendor I was very satisfied. And I wasn’t waiting for anything. Frank called once: are you okay? And then I was at our landing. And in the mid-afternoon, two of my dear friends came in their masks, because it was time to dance in the yard at a safe distance with my daughter. Time to dance the baby into readiness for a powerful passage into this world. And in the late afternoon, my daughter cut her last watermelon from her garden to drink its juice.