My husband and son have a yearly ritual of going hunting for whitetail in Wisconsin during Thanksgiving week. It started when our son would tag along at the age of three to sit in the woods with his dad. That tradition has gone on now for 44 years. It’s a wonderful time for both of them to share each other’s company.
I know how important this time is for them. In the past I’d dig into some monumental project while they were gone. I’d redecorate a room – sand and refinish wood floors – bag up the remaining leaves before the snow fell – string the Christmas lights outside, but now I use the time to think of what I should be doing.
Sometimes I feel guilty for not being able to do the things I used to, but then I remember that I’m 73 years old and I should have some quiet time too. It’s hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but I’m learning.
It’s the time of the year when men go and hunt deer,
When they bond and have fun from the dawn of the sun.
As I sit here at home, by myself all alone,
I bask in the peace as my thoughts now increase,
Looking inward and seeing the core of my being,
Alone in my thoughts as time now allots,
There’s solace in small things – the joy that a voice brings,
The siren that wails or the screeching of wheels,
Amplified sounds grab my inner attention,
And the peace now gives way to creative invention,
In days long gone by, when youth still had a hold,
I could fill all those moments, but now I’ve grown old,
I sit quietly thinking of the things I could do,
But I never seem ready to quite follow through,
Instead I will wait with my thoughts full of him,
Thoughts tempered with silence without and within.