Life is so simple. So complicated. So simple.
Yes, I know, I can’t make up my mind. I’m sitting outside with my yin and yang kittens, both exactly the same size, one grey striped, one orange striped, one in my lap, one at my feet, one playful and adventurous, the other shy, quiet, steady.
It’s a sultry summer afternoon, and it’s cooler inside with the air conditioning on, but I want to be outside, sitting here in my jungle that used to be garden, attempting to think about nothing. And so, of course, I think about life.
My friend Mr. Mockingbird comes a-calling, interrupting my reverie to remind me that he has it all figured out. Which makes me smile.
A bumblebee, too damaged or near death to fly, crawls along the stones at my feet, and I am sad for him.
Thunder rumbles somewhere off in the distance and all the flowers in my yard perk their ears up, wishing, hoping, praying for some rain to quench their thirst.
The air is still and my mind is racing. I’ve been here, in this place, before.
How many times have I parked myself here, in this spot, in this very same chair, and listened to this very same bird while lamenting the state of my garden?
Of course, it doesn’t matter.
It only matters that I am here, now, with this hot, humid air laying heavy on my skin, letting life settle in all around me.
The rain may come and wash the dust away. Or not.
Either way I will sit in this place. Listening. Breathing. Sweating.
There is no other place to be.