Just One Day

A writer friend and I have established a fairly regular routine of writing together on Sunday mornings. She supplies most of the prompts and for an hour we write and share (over the phone - this is a long-distance event) what we've written. One of this weekend's prompts was to sift through the week to find those moments when we were really paying attention. I didn't get past Friday morning! 

Tea - hot, sweet, the first sip awakening the taste buds; two year old Bean's small, secretive, satisfied smile upon awakening to find herself in my bed; the delight in Baby Lily’s eyes that travels through her in a shiver as she holds her arms out to me; watching Al move about the kitchen with a dancer’s grace, choreographing breakfast; the thickness of air when it reaches 100 degrees, the sheer oppressive weight of it on my shoulders; the startling contrast of purple against yellow, the petunias leaning out of their wall basket to rest their heads on the shoulders of yellow lily blossoms; the absence of Frosty’s bark when a thunderstorm is imminent – he always alerted me to lightning before I was aware of its proximity; the way the scent of cut grass and the taste of cool watermelon can soothe my nerves even when I'm not aware they needed soothing; the look in my daughter’s eyes when she sees me - relief, love, amusement, anticipation, satisfaction all at once in those expressive orbs, and how I see her in that soft blue, the essence of Cassie, the part of her that connects with me; the massive relief of the first faint hint of a cool breeze on sweat-soaked skin; the height of the weeds that surround the garden and the staggering number of them that pop up through the bark mulch despite constant pulling; the unexpected feeling of being worry free while driving a car – my new-to-me one has effective brakes, a sound exhaust system, an automatic transmission – I am able to look around me as I drive, observing things that worry previously blinded me to.

I could have written reams and perhaps I shall write more as I think over the past week. Another prompt was to project what our lives might be like this time next year. I had trouble with that one. Tabor's post this week mentions the butterfly effect. One never knows what small event will change the course of a larger one. I hope that then will be much as now is - all in all, I lead quite a satisfactory life.

What moments did you pay attention to last week?

FYI: (Frosty was the neighbor's yellow lab. He died a few weeks ago.)

Gifts

"Come fishing," he'd say.

I would trot beside him

as he made his way

through deep meadow grasses

to the edge of the river.

He'd hold back the whiplash branches

like a gentleman.

Feigning interest in the muddy shore

or the sun-splashed water, I hid my tears

while the worm struggled,

imagining the hook in my own soft neck,

and when the careless fish, lured by something

improbably free, gasped in my father's hand,

I spied flowers far down the riverbank

and fled to pick them.

A bucket of worms to start,

a creel of fish to finish.

And a handful of black-eyed susans

for my mother, waiting at home,

who didn't like to see worms suffer either

and so gave me these hours with my father

as a gift.

"Home now," he'd say

and the day would coalesce in satisfaction,

fish, flowers, and father inextricably linked.