Just This

I've gotten so used to blocking out the world so that I can concentrate, it has begun to occur to me that I am missing things.

Walking out into a lovely world to get the newspaper, I put my life on pause.

Donned in my snazzy pink and black pajamas, I sat on the slightly damp porch chair and gazed upward. Ginormous clouds scuttled by, north to south. They covered the sun for a bit, but I could see the light sitting on top of them. Instead of wondering what the world looked like from up there, I concentrated on my own little corner.

Engaging in an exercise I haven't in some time, I closed my eyes and just listened. At first, I heard a few birds. Then a persistent cricket. A siren. A car driving by. Then the subtler sounds. Wind through leaves. A train engine. Different birds, farther away. I acknowledged each and went on to the next.

Then I opened my eyes and looked. The tops of the grass wet with dew. A spider web glistening in the streaks of sunlight. A flock of starlings gathering in the tree across the way. A neighbor playing catch with her dog.

Then I just breathed for awhile. I didn't think about work or the day ahead or the day behind.

I did let the thought creep in that I should do this every day.

Then I forgave myself and went inside to have breakfast.