This morning the world is fresh and green and sparkling in the way that only comes after an all-night rain. I can practically hear the flowers and trees sighing in relief. The birds are singing extra loudly, the colors all look more vibrant, the breeze is especially soft.
I sat outside last evening and watched the clouds fill the sky. They did not come rolling in, these clouds, but rather they crept, inch by inch, slowly, quietly, and without anger.
I sat and listened to the stillness, a sleeping cat in the chair next to me, a notebook in my lap, and there was nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, no one needing my attention.
The golden hour, when daylight shifts and shadows lengthen.
Another day ending, another night beginning, life cycling its way through the hours that always refuse to be counted. Tallied up by things accomplished, things to be done, lists and goals and wants and needs and never enough.
Except, it was enough. In that hour, there was an eternity.
I watched a grey lace curtain draw itself across the sun. I watched those shadows pale and disappear. Chiaroscuro became blur and faded into dusk.
I watched everything, and nothing.
A green heron flapped its wings through my line of sight, silently heading back to its nest for the night.
A dragonfly landed on the table near my arm.
Two grasshoppers spun past in a mysterious dance.
Barn swallows swooped through the air like bats.
The shape of time.