Dramatic RootsFoot elevated, in the ugly post-op boot, my...
Foot elevated, in the ugly post-op boot, my view out the living room window is the white sky—edged with evergreen and bare branches jiggling sporadically with the gusts of wind. The occasional crow flies by, or pauses on the roof of the house across the street. I hear the white noise of tires rolling over the wet asphalt. Leonard’s muscles twitch and he growls a little in his sleep. Then wakes, and moves off the couch to lie in his bed in the other room. I must have breathed too loudly. My coffee is lukewarm. This is a low contrast day. The late morning and the early afternoon will pass imperceptibly above all the white. I will nap under the influence of painkillers and lose track of the hours. I slip into ujjayi breathing again, and I close my eyes. The mundane moments of healing are worth savoring.
It’s strange, how the ordinary can hold so much. How the slow, small moments of just being—rather than doing—can be what we need most. What’s been a small, quiet moment of your own lately that’s made you stop and notice the little things?
