I started my day with a five-mile run. There were quite a few people out on the green way. I noticed a couple out for a morning walk. The woman was a few feet ahead of the man. She stopped to wait on him to catch up. He had stopped walking and was bent over. Pulled muscle? Heart attack? No, he had stopped to pluck a honeysuckle bloom. As he resumed walking he was tasting the flower’s nectar. His walking partner, whom I assumed was his wife, was nonplussed by the brief delay. I realized I haven’t tasted honeysuckle nectar since I was a kid.
A few minutes later I was back at the Y, run completed. A lady was walking in the parking lot with her two toddlers. The girls stopped to investigate something they spotted on the sidewalk. I couldn’t tell what they were looking at but it was obvious they were enthralled. Their mom was furious they didn’t “snap to” when she told them to catch up with her. She was yelling, and I mean YELLING. I didn’t hang around to see if she was successful in getting the girls’ attention.
I don’t know why the couple could afford to approach the day in such a relaxed manner. I don’t know why the mom was in such a mad rush. But this I know: lately I’ve felt like the harried mom when what I really want to do is stop and taste the nectar.