The sun is shining, but there’s still mist on the ground, wreathing tree trunks and blanketing paddocks. Winter is here, just beginning, and somehow beautiful. It’s early(ish) morning and I’m riding the bus to work. I wish I was out walking instead, enjoying the quiet, watching steam rise off ponds in the nearby wetlands. I wish I was out photographing the hills and valleys in their misty garments.
And now the bus heads down the hill onto the plains, into the suburbs, and the weather is closing in. Dark clouds suspended overhead, and milky fog as we descend.
And life feels like that sometimes, longing for space to enjoy the beauty, but feeling inexorably dragged into the grey heaviness of daily routines and responsibilities. I can’t just choose not to show up because I’d rather be doing something else. People depend on me to be there. I depend on me to earn a living. And truthfully, I like my job.
But the longing is telling me that I also need to make space – space for my soul, space for rest, space for God.
If you listen, what are your longings telling you?
Image sourced here.