My First Blog

The lake ripples as six fuzzy goslings paddle behind their regal mother and father. I recall there were more of the little fluff balls last spring, peeping and paddling across these same tranquil waters. But wait – four more downy babes bob into view, escorted by another proud goose pair. They glance up at the shore where our cat, Buddy, sits watching, his green feline eyes intent. What thoughts stir behind that gaze? Does he hope for feathered friends or fancy himself the king, graciously allowing safe passage?

Days ago, strolling the wooded path I walk each day, my inner voice whispered, Look closer. There is a gift waiting. Though pretty, this trail holds unseen magic beyond the pesky mosquitoes. At a familiar bend, I peered into the brush and there it sat – a baby fox watching me, eyes round with the same curiosity and wonder I felt. Best get inside before Mama scolds you, I whispered, not wanting the little one to follow me home. Though part of me wished it would.

At fifty-six, I walk an unlikely, magical path. Prodded by my loving Tom, I took early retirement from banking to pursue my childhood dream of writing. No more meetings and conferences. Now my days start gazing at the lake, swimming in silent contemplation, wondering what had compelled my tremendous leap of faith into the unknown.

For if I fall, if my wings don’t take flight, failure looms, and that is my greatest fear. I believe we are all the same. Who doesn’t dream of living out their childhood fantasy? Of having their deepest longing become reality? But what if you then failed? Could any book chapter be more frightening?

Those early grief-filled days after leaving my career transformed me. I talked less and listened more. I picked up pen, paint and laptop to play. I watched ducklings grow, owls become elusive monarchs of the night, and baby foxes tussle while mother hunted. Their loud peeping, silent flight, and playful antics sang to me. My inner voice gained a platform, no longer hushed by numbers and metrics.

Once I’d have hoped any inner prompt of a gift waiting brought money or accolades. But last week, watching the baby fox watch me, I smiled all the way home. That was gift enough.

As this post goes live, the once downy baby geese have likely grown into rowdy teenagers. The baby fox may attempt a greeting bark as I pass by. But amidst these ordinary moments of rediscovered joy and fleeting connections, lies the genuine gift – a momentary return to childlike wonder and belief in magic. 

I extend an invitation for you to join me in experiencing it for yourself, either through your own adventures or through my art and words.