The most casual turn, an innocent encounter--with a person, a book, a painting, a piece of unexpected news--or a mere thought passing through one's head can leave one ever so slightly altered. And somehow we know, as the minutes pass, that we are being quietly made and that there is nothing we can do to stop it, because when it comes to the present, we are susceptible and enthralled. By comparison the past is more easily locatable, or at least we have concocted the illusion that it is, and the future, no matter how uncertain, always seems distant. It is the guest who is forever not quite yet here.~Hisham Matar (From A Month In Siena)

I felt immediately jealous as I read the description of the book on the inside flap of the cover. Throughout his life, the author was fascinated with artworks of the Sienese School of painting. He traveled to Italy to spend a month looking at the paintings he so cherished. Days and days to spend slowly gazing at the art, at his pace, without hurrying through. I thought, "Oh, to be able to do that." 

My days now act as a fulcrum for all the life that has gone before me, and the season yet to come. I exist in the corridor of the in between. I feel the pivot, the shift, but I'm not there yet. I could stand paralyzed in the hallway, soaked through with anxiety about what's to come, or I could take a deep breath and slowly walk the gallery of my own life, stopping to appreciate the gains, the moments of beauty, the sweet and noble people I've loved and who have loved me. Let my heart open, allow it space to sit and ponder. To muse.

I see that photo of myself, the woman holding her newborn children, the heft of their warmth in my arms. I'd acknowledge her naiveté and simultaneously her innate wisdom. Her glorious youth.

Another photograph captures a bench in Paris where my husband and I rested one February day, now a decade ago, his head in my lap, my fingers in his hair. I could see the Eiffel tower from where we sat. I could feel the unseasonal warmth of the sun on my face. I knew then to appreciate that moment of intimacy. Today that memory still feels miraculous. 

Then the more current photo, as I stand at the juncture. Silver-haired, my girth widened, readying myself. Hopeful. My hand extended to the guest in the distance.