A Practice in Presence

Just right here, just right now.

I don’t believe in writer’s block. I believe there are times when creativity or curiosity just haven’t found the right question. I found myself there today, and I asked, “What is right in front of me?

Here is what I saw:

The sun moves through the windows, the faint outline of the tree branches. The tree in front is losing its pine needles, the wind stripping them further with each gust. Lightening them up so the snow doesn’t weigh them as badly this winter.

The eucalyptus crunches in its fingerprinted glass vase, and the neighbors drive too fast down our street.

My parents’ hand-me-down leather chair supports me perfectly and I wonder when the sun will claim its supple finish.

He exhales, his warm body relaxing into my presence, his work for the day complete. If I’m lucky, he’ll rest his little perfect chin on my ankle, tickled by his whiskers. He doesn’t even know these tiny gifts he gives.

This practice of just noticing what is right here, right now, is nourishing me lately. A balm to my restless mind. A carved-out space of observation. Just now, right here, just noticing. I invite you to give it a try.

What is right in front of you?