Breezes move through leaves and branches, lifting them. It's quiet, except for music playing softly in my living room.
There's a glass of water on the table next to me. I can smell the cucumber that's been sitting in the pitcher all day, scenting the water. The blades of the ceiling fan cut the air and redistribute it, cooling the late afternoon.
I breathe in peace and breathe out joy. I breathe in beauty and breathe out happiness.
The day has been spacious. I move through it like a panther, slowly, deliberately, noticing everything.
There's a tiny headache behind and just above my right eye. I probably would not have noticed it if it was a normal day when I am busy at work. Managing this, arranging that, preparing for this, addressing that, planning this, executing that. I sit back and close my eyes. A few deep breaths and a few tugs on my hair close to the scalp release the headache. I notice tightness in my shoulders and stretch, sink into yoga asana there in my chair. Bend. Fold. Twist. How long has it been since I practiced in the studio? Will there be a studio when all this is over? I allow these thoughts to be what they are and then let them go. Turn them into birds, as if I was Bob Ross at the easel.
I hear my fingers tapping the keyboard, chronicling their experience. Looking around my kitchen, I notice familiar things I love and some messy touches. The small basket in my pantry overflows with dishtowels. The recycling containers are full. A few little piles of paper wink at me. It's all very homey, nothing like the kitchens in magazines. Do people still read magazines? They must, since I can still buy them, but I wonder how long they will last in this strange, new world that unfolds around me.
Thoughts become birds again. I open my eyes and see them fly across the sky.
Days of Accidental Beauty: 40 Days of Noticing is a daily writing practice that invites discovery.
No comments:
Post a Comment