The birds are singing as though it’s spring, and perhaps it is. I had dreams of Halloween, and then I woke to a symphony outside my open door. I looked out to rose-pink and thought of the moments, each one divided into seasons when we notice, when we’re awake.
Yesterday when I walked toward the bay, I saw a seal frolicing and doing somersaults, but when I sat on the rocks to watch, no seal was visible, only two gulls sitting with me, and the magic in the water shifting, moving, just like all that makes up living in me.
Gratitude is a symphony, and I sit lifted on the chords as I ground on the garbage truck’s deep rumbling as it gathers and recycles what’s been used.