Ephemeral

The weeks long blanket of clouds blew away last night and I followed my feelings to hike in a flood plain between limestone cliffs.

The light filtered through the tiny new leaves on the awakening trees and gently lit the blossoms covering the valley floor.

At this time of year there is a short period, a couple days at most, where the ground isn't frozen and the leaves are not yet out. In heavily wooded areas a class of flowers bloom in this period - appropriately enough they are called ephemerals. The blossoms and the light on the forest floor combine to make a transcendent beauty, made all the more poignant by the rarity of the time.

The long winter of my marriage is over.

On Saturday night I told my wife I thought we should begin the process of separating our lives. Her first reaction was arguing and telling me all the things wrong about my request. Later, spent, we comforted each other and I found myself crying, great shuddering barks of pain racking my body and she held me and tried to tell me it would be all right.

We've started working out the details, talking about financial issues and most importantly how to continue loving and supporting our children as parents who just can't live together.

I feel really close to her - this blossoming of emotion is beautiful and rewarding, and yet I know it is as ephemeral as the flowers I so gently walked through last night. It is a time to be treasured and then let go.

We've stated our goals: I want us to be friends and mutually supporting champions of our children, living separately and probably with new partners. She wants to take this time to figure out what has gone wrong and try to remake our relationship into something more equal and viable. We both agree that a new start is desperately needed for both of us.

I'm happy with either outcome, although I have no hope for the latter and I've told her that often enough in the last days that she knows I'm not playing games.

I'm breathing easier than I have for a long time, even though sadness lurks in every remembrance.

I let the sadness flow through me, let it touch me but not hold me. It is as ephemeral as everything else.