Ever since my foggy Friday, I've been watching. Suddenly, I see so many lovely tidbits floating through my days. Their steadfast presence, maintaining their presence through my fog, even permeating my fogginess with their serendipitous bright truths.
Last week, the kids and I drove to Dunkin' Donuts. On the way, we sat in traffic. (Amazingly, I'd left enough time to allow for traffic.) As we sat, I looked out the window. A woman and an elementary school girl stood in their driveway. I guessed they were waiting for the school bus. They stood, silently, side by side. Contentment seemed to swallow them. The girl looked up at the woman, probably her grandmother. They smiled, and the grandmother nestled the girl into the cozy part of her body. The emulated peace. They inadvertently sent some to me.
Last Tuesday, I planted flowers. I reached into the damp dirt and furrowed spots for my vincas and potato vines. My finger nails caked with dirt. Joyful flowers nodding on my front porch. I unwittingly and literally grounded myself in the ground.
This morning, on the way to school, I saw another grandparent with her grandson. He was probably two. They stood, across from the school, like statues. Still. Waiting. Watching. I guessed that they were watching for school buses. Regardless, they stood. The grandmother didn't rush, hen peck or direct her grandson. She let him be. I felt as if that sage grandmother held some arcane bit of knowledge and just by observing them, she unknowingly unwrapped a bit of the secret for me.
Last night, while cocooned in tousled cotton duvets, a cacophony of damp drops serenaded us during our slumber. Quiet. Methodical. Natural rain. Wrapping the moment in its own heady, poignant paper. Defining a beginning, on the inevitable heels of a a day's end.
The divine, nestled right here, betwixt the traffic, the school bustle and a night's sleep.