From my back porch, I see a bank of rhododendrons that have soaked up sun and grown almost as tall as the house. Above the rhododendrons, there’s a strip of blue sky, seen as though looking through a clerestory window. It’s a glorious day. …
This is the beginning of an essay of mine that was just published by The Sunlight Press . Please go on over to their site and look around.
I went for a walk yesterday afternoon at around 5, taking advantage of lingering light at the end of daylight savings time. I tried to stay in the moment as I walked, seeing, noticing—a pattern of fallen leaves on the road, a few quince lingering on a bush and one salmon colored flower, a flame red shrub. But the act of noticing and naming took me out of the moment and I started this blog post in my head. Often as I walk, drive, simply sit on the couch looking out at the trees and sky, words swim in me, swirl, settle, and swirl again.
I set out on my walk planning to go to the end of the block then turn left and left again and finally home, all on a level route that’s easy on new knees. But at the first turn I looked right and saw the sun bright and golden through a crack in dark clouds and turned toward it, up a hill then down to a road that borders a field and the clouds, streaming sun, distant hills.
It was a good walk, an image and word filled walk if not a mindful walk. I want my days to be full of such moments, weaving in and out of present time, noticing, appreciating, sometimes choosing the harder route, breathing it all in.