Letting Go

Liberation

The dogs jump on the bed to alert me it is time. Time for our morning walkabout on Blueberry Island (our place in the North Channel of Lake Huron).

Stepping out the door of our cabin is like entering another world. The sun is already high in the sky at seven, having gotten an early start at 5:15 with a golden glow in the east and startling pink clouds. A promise for a sunny day.

Muschu and Rocky race ahead, knowing our route, but when I reach the woods, I want to linger. I listen to the birds chirping high in the treetops and hear the distant sounds of the crows, gulls, ducks, and geese. I am entranced by the sweet voice of the song sparrow, catch a glimpse of the golden feathers of the Pine Warbler, and see the small black capped chickadee flitting from branch to branch.

The morning chill hangs in the air, refreshing my senses. I notice the blueberry plants are now bearing small green buds, swollen with the rain that has persisted for the last three days. Surely a bumper crop of blueberries this year. The dragonflies just hatched and are giddy as they test their gossamer wings in high-flying acrobatics. A mother duck, keeping her babies close by, paddles along the shore. I feel wealthy with this abundance.

For the last three days, my son, dogs, and I have been sequestered in the house, rain beating on the tin roof, wind tipping over the flowerpots, and whitecaps on the water. Nights snuggled deep under the down comforter as the temperature dipped into the 40s.

I love pressing my nose against the window to watch the dark clouds and bands of rain of an approaching storm. The electricity in the air, the sound of thunder, the fresh earthy smell of the rain washing the pollen out of the air, and giving Mother Oak’s new dark green leaves a good bath.

I am wearing my bathing suit this morning on our walk because I plan to end with an icy dip. The dogs have already waded into the water, their morning ritual, and come out with a vigorous shake, sending the water flying from their heavy fur coats. Slowly, I descend the ladder into the 55-degree water, the excruciating and delicious cold waking up every cell. Then, the moment of truth, letting go of the ladder to fall back for a full body immersion. I even swim a few strokes this morning before bolting out. I know this morning treatment makes my hot steaming coffee taste heavenly and my flannel shirt and sweatpants cozier.

But something else is lingering just below the surface of this morning insanity.

Letting go of the ladders of life is where I feel most alive, my senses sharpened, liberated from the prison of a limiting belief. Letting go this morning, I enjoy breaking the invisible rule of how an old lady is supposed to behave.