The Breath of Time and the Gift of Choice

The morning air was crisp, still holding a chill that lingered before the sun broke through the horizon. A fine mist lay low over the pastures, and the scent of earth — warm and sweet with the promise of a new day — filled my lungs. I stood on the porch of the old farmhouse, hands resting on the worn rail, rocking gently in my chair. The wood was smooth from years of use, worn by the hands of those who had come before me. I could almost hear my grandfather's voice in the wind, his quiet, wise words whispering through the trees. His land, his legacy — it was now mine to tend to, though some days, it felt as if the burden of time itself weighed heavier than the work.

Grandpa had passed on some years ago, and with his death, a part of me had died too. I had learned so much from him, not just about the land, but about life — about the seasons of time and how they marched forward whether we were ready or not. He had always said that time was a gift, one you could never get back once it slipped through your fingers. And yet, in the rush of daily life, I felt I had squandered too much of it.

Now, as the days blurred into one another, I struggled with the fleeting nature of time. The past few years had been a blur of work, and raising my children — each at their own stage, each with their own needs. But the clock seemed always to tick faster. Lillie Mae, my eldest, was already talking about the future, already looking at what lay beyond the farm. Zachary, my son, was eager for a life of service, his sights set on law enforcement. And Scarlett — my youngest, the wild one — was a fiery mix of sunshine and rain. One moment, she'd light up the room with her bright smile, and the next, she'd be lost in a storm of emotions.

I had always intended to spend more time with them — to teach them the ways of the land, to share what I knew of the world. But there never seemed to be enough time, and now, as they grew older, I feared I was missing my chance.

It was on this particular morning, as I sat on the porch and watched the sun’s first light dance across the fields, that I made a decision. I had spent too long mourning time lost, too long feeling the weight of my regrets. Today, I would do something about it. Life was still mine to choose.

As I walked toward the barn, the horses greeted me with their familiar neighs, their heads poking over the fence, eager for attention. The scent of their bodies, warm and earthy, always reminded me of Grandpa. He had taught me how to care for them, how to read their moods, just as he had taught me to listen to the land. I ran my hand along the fence, fingers brushing the old wood, feeling the memories of those long years.

"Time’s a funny thing," I muttered to the horse nearest me, though I knew it couldn’t understand. "It gets away from you when you least expect it."

I paused, taking a deep breath, and the familiar scents of hay and earth filled my lungs. It was as though time had stopped for just a moment, and I could hear Grandpa’s voice in my mind: "The land never forgets, girl. It takes what it needs, but it gives back more than you could ever imagine."

I let out a long breath, feeling the weight on my chest ease. Time wasn’t just something to be mourned. It was something to work with, something to appreciate. I had learned that from Grandpa, but somewhere along the way, I had forgotten. Now it was time to remember.

The house had quieted as I walked back inside. The smell of fresh bread and coffee greeted me, and I found my three children gathered around the table. Lillie Mae, always the responsible one, sat up straight, a book open in front of her. She had always been the one to keep things in order, the one who could handle responsibility with grace, though not without a little bit of headbutting between us. Zachary was there too, his easy smile and bright eyes full of enthusiasm. He was already talking about his plans for a career in law enforcement — a dream he’d held onto since he was little. And Scarlett, my fiery child, was sitting at the window, gazing out with a faraway look in her eyes, a mixture of sunshine and rain swirling in her soul.

I took a deep breath, my hands resting on the back of the chair. It was time to speak the truth I had been carrying inside me for far too long.

"I’ve been thinking," I began, my voice rough with emotion. "About how quickly time passes. About how I’ve been so focused on getting things done, on making sure everything’s just right, that I’ve missed out on the most important part."

Lillie Mae, ever the first to raise an eyebrow and challenge me, met my gaze head-on. "What do you mean, Mama?" she asked, her voice steady, but there was a softness there too, a depth of understanding that only the eldest child can carry.

"I’ve been so caught up in work," I said, "that I’ve let the moments slip by — the moments that matter most. You, Zachary, Scarlett... all of you. I haven’t been as present as I should be."

Zachary grinned, his carefree attitude filling the room. "Mama, you’ve always been there for us. You’ve made sure we had everything we needed. You don’t have to worry about that."

Scarlett, ever the one to wear her heart on her sleeve, looked up at me with her big brown eyes. "We know, Mama. We know you love us." Then, in her usual fiery way, she added, "But you don’t have to do it all by yourself. We can help, y’know."

Lillie Mae, the ever-determined firstborn, nodded slowly, her face softening. "You’ve done more than enough, Mama," she said, her voice a little quieter now, as if she was speaking directly to my heart. "But maybe it’s time for you to let go a little, to take a break and enjoy what you’ve built here."

I smiled, feeling the weight in my chest lighten with each word they spoke. My children were growing, becoming the young adults they were meant to be, and while I had feared their growing independence, I realized in that moment how proud I was of them. They had learned from me, but they had also learned from the land, from the lessons I hadn’t even known I was teaching them.

"I’ve decided something," I said, looking at each of them in turn. "I’m going to stop worrying about all the time I’ve lost. Instead, I’m going to make the most of the time I have left. I’m going to be present with you — all of you — and I’m going to let go of the idea that I have to do everything by myself."

Zachary laughed and gave me a playful salute. "Good plan, Mama. We got your back."

Scarlett jumped up from her seat, her energy contagious. "You’re the best, Mama! We’re a team, right?"

And Lillie Mae, always the one to push back and challenge, finally softened, her eyes gleaming with a quiet pride. "You’ve taught us everything we need to know, Mama. Now, it’s our turn to help you."

In that moment, as I looked at my children — each with their own dreams, their own paths — I realized something important. Time, though it might slip away, was never gone forever. I had the choice to make the most of the time I had left. I could be there for my children, for the farm, and for myself. I could breathe in the air of this land, appreciate the love of my family, and let go of the weight of time lost.

The past was behind me, but the future was still open, still full of possibilities. And as the sun set behind the hills, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, I knew that the choice was mine to make. Time was no longer something to be feared — it was something to embrace, to live with purpose, and to share with those I loved.