Winter Reflections

The Canal in winter is quiet, almost hibernation-like.  Canal authorities close it in November so that sections of it can be drained and the bottom cleaned.  The boats moored in the basin across from the train station in Carcassonne are still; on-board activity is small and contained.  I saw the owners of La Belle Helene sitting at their kitchen table, having coffee and shuffling papers.  

The water stands waiting; the locks are closed for the season and without their movement and the wakes of passing boats, there's little to mar the mirror surface.  The boat fenders come in assorted shapes and hues, like candy dangling over the sides.  

Winter is a time for reflection, and not just of boats in the water.  The pace of life here, never hectic to begin with, is even slower in January and February.  The markets have lost their frenetic pace acquired during the holiday season.  Some stores and restaurants are closing for a well-earned respite before the tourists begin arriving.  It's a time to think about where I am in my journey, where I have been and what I would like to strive for.

I know it shouldn't come as a shock to me, but today I was overwhelmed by the passage of time.  How did forty years pass since I met the man who changed my life?  Could it possibly be thirty years since I first set eyes on the West Coast?  I have been a cancer survivor for--24 years? How is this possible? Where did the time go?  What do I have to show for it?  Is that even a question to be asking?  It implies that we should have a collection of things and I have just spent time and energy shedding things.  But I hope I have insight, wisdom, balance, compassion to show for those passing years.

None of us know the number of our days.  While I don't believe in being mired in the past, I think it is good, like the Canal, to stop, to drain ourselves, to clean out the accumulated muck and to replenish our water, our energy.  Winter in Carcassonne make that task just a bit easier.