Masked Native

Sun warming, calm water day. A bird sings softly. His song enters through the open door of my bedroom, bringing a pause to my bed-making, bringing attention to the harmony of stillness that envelopes the garden and sea beyond. I am compelled to take notice, with pen and paper to record what I see, bringing myself to the simple awareness of precious moments that define what is.

The cat returns from his morning patrol, rubs his wet nose across my arm, settling on the step beside me to wallow in his blackness. The sun obscured for small moments behind approaching day-clouds and memories of yesterday in the children’s scattered playthings.
In this moment, so many things, people and places, contained within the impression of separateness

“Does God live in the ditch by the roadside?”
A question I asked as a child.
Patterns in motion, eat, sleep, dream, work, rest, imagine.
Definitions, choices, events that shape who and what we are.

No answers. Just moments of being aware, of listening, feeling, seeing, sensing,
and a heart gratitude for life.