Let your mind dance with your body

It had just stopped raining when I stepped out for my walk, but you couldn’t tell the difference, the fog was so thick it was like walking through a cold steam room.  Glorious.  On my walk, I was reflecting on the book I am reading, The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh.  The novel tells the story of a girl, Victoria, who has lived in foster homes for her entire childhood.  It goes back and forth, alternating chapters of her present, adult life (age 18) and her childhood between group homes and foster homes, etc.  In the part about her childhood, we learn that at one point she lived with a woman who was versed on the language of flowers, the old Victorian way for lovers to communicate by sending each other flowers, each one having a meaning.  It is one of the only things young Victoria is interested in. (For example, the yellow carnation means rejection, disdain or “You have disappointed me,” while the daisy symbolizes innocence, loyal love, purity or faith.  You can see how lovers would communicate sending these flowers – fresh, pressed or drawings of them, back and forth to one another.) Thus far, Victoria is incapable of having relationships, including friendships.  She has been so betrayed, damaged, hurt that she is unwilling to let anyone in.  I got to thinking about relationships.  I cringed at the internal wounds of ruined friendships or relationships.  We all have those people in our lives with whom we simply cannot communicate effectively.  Our words are misunderstood, we misunderstand theirs, we were young, unaware of our actions, etc.

My melancholy thoughts were dismissed by the song of the birds, beckoning the sun to rise – the sun I will not see behind the thick, drippy marine layer.  I sighed and took in my surroundings.  A bunny scampered across the path and I sped up to catch a glimpse of her/him.  The air smelled acidic, which is characteristic of the shrubbery growing down by the ocean, and although I do not particularly like the smell, I love what the smell is associated with – the beauty of the ocean and countless memories of running along the boardwalk.    Each footstep on the sandy path uncovered an oval of dry sand.  I noticed that I was not alone as there were hoof prints as well; the deer graze just off the path but know no such path. The ocean was calm, deep grey, which was the perfect contrast to the not-so-white sky.  I kept on my way, smiling at a bench that had been built into the fence of a person’s home.  It was flanked on either side with rosemary – the deep green speckled with its characteristic light purple flowers, rosemary – remembrance.  How appropriate.  

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