She sort of garnered attention.
In the middle of our local library, nearly tipping out of the computer chair, one hand dragging on the floor, slumped in a deep sleep.
I gave a quick look around.
Anyone else notice how lifeless this woman looked?
But everyone around her was either submerged in their work, or paying no attention while browsing the shelves.
Maybe I’ll notify someone at the front desk that in the 20 minutes I’ve been here, she hasn’t moved one iota out of her dangerously-close-to-hitting-the-floor slump.
She’s right where everyone who comes in can see her.
Staring, judging, snickering, head-shaking, they all pass.
Someone will take care of it.
It’s early morning hours and I can feel contentment settling a thick mantle over me.
Early light is dancing across the big maple, putting pretty patterns on the fence. The breeze causes all the trees to ripple and sound like waves on a distant shoreline, downing out city sounds. One chickadee keeps announcing itself gleefully.
I drag my laptop outside so I can inhale it all.
And contentment bubbling up seems so natural.
And so I think about it carefully, is it just a natural bi-product of how nice the right-now is? Maybe the right-now can inspire contentment and joy on a surface level, but deep down?
I know all too well that it’s always a choice.
It’s just nature taking its usual course, but nearly overnight my favorite time of the year arrived, and with it, my own favorite reminder of the nearness of the Creator.
All tied up in what I think is one of the most beautiful sounds.
The wind in the trees.
I love, love, love the sound of the wind, dancing, weaving, caressing through the leaves. It makes me sleep deeply at night with a window open. It energizes me come morning, that constant sweeping through branches, and making my garden dance.
Maybe it’s just me. There is something about the sound of the wind rushing through trees that rests me, brings me peace, and moves me.
And it’s been missing until now.