the summer of small things

Sometimes, life just gets away from you. And after a while, you stop fighting it and just let it flail away, knowing that at some point, things will settle down again, however briefly.

Time starts to feel like the enemy, and that’s just silly. It is, after all, just time, the caretaker of life, and it has no ulterior motives. We are always running after it, running out of it, trying to squeeze a little extra from it.

And time just sits there, grinning with a cheshire cat smile.

It’s only the moment, the one you’re in right now (the one that just passed while you read the word now) that matters.

And it is so easy to forget this while you race towards the finish line.

There is no prize for getting there first. No prize for failing to notice the sun streaming through the trees, the child’s smile, the kind word. Those are the gifts that keep you going.

It’s hard, sometimes, to look away from the goal and take in the small things. Or we simply forget in our hurry to get where we think we are going. (Which will just be a new version of now.)

All of this to say that the other night I sat outside for a few hours and did nothing. Absolutely nothing. On purpose. I just watched and listened and inhaled and exhaled and took it all in. Life.

I’ve accomplished many things in the last month. A long, long list of things that had to be done. But in another month, the only part I will remember will be those few hours.

And as I sat there, quite suddenly, it became the summer of small things.

It won’t be the summer I might wish for, filled with long, lazy afternoons on a quilt with a book. But I will carve out moments to remember, even in the tangled mess of life’s jungle.

I will seek out the heart. Because even time has one, if you know where to look.

Here. Now.

See it?



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