What am I missing?
Nature whizzing by as I fly
past a neighbor’s yard, her azaleas in full glory. No time to stop. A beautiful full moon peeking from the trees
as I hurry to a meeting, always running late.
Maybe next month.
The frogs, the cicadas, the lonely
horned owl, all lost to my ears, singing and calling out in vain as I leave my
car and hurry to the back door. Oh, how lovely
to sit outside for a few twilit moments, but the patio chairs are covered in
pollen.
Hours pass, another dawn, the
morning chorus of songbirds drowned by the alarm on my phone and then the TV
news. An absolutely beautiful morning, I
might think, yet I hurry to feed the feral cats before returning to my
windowless den for coffee and Kindle.
No time to prepare the porch
for a long morning of reading a dog-eared book with the sun moving closer and
warmer, or for sitting still, with that mysterious calm descending at dusk… the
hypnotic quality of day becoming night felt by every living creature to walk
the earth who was not too busy to notice.
And what of those first days
of warm weather? Those days that arrive
without pretense and do not wait for me to finish my scrolling, my texting, my
driving here and there to purchase this and that, made in a distant land.
Six weeks into confinement
now. First went the purchasing, then the
driving. Then I just got tired of
looking at a screen all day.
What am I missing?
I discovered what I had forgotten.
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