text: It was a quiet afternoon in early October; the forecast called for rain, but there was only the occasional wayward cloud drifting across a pale blue sky. I sat and listened to summer’s dying breath whispering through the trees, lightly splashed with red and orange at the tips. Aside from the clicking of a leaf skipping down the sidewalk on a cool breeze, it was quiet. I noticed thin strings of smoke twisting and whipping from the top of my hookah, and it reminded me of...well, nothing. I wasn’t thinking, just noticing. No thoughts of love and loss, no life and death, no yesterdays and tomorrows, just silent awareness of the here and now. I sip my tea and smile, treasuring these rare few moments where I can take the time to recognize life happening around me, not to me. It’s a sort of stillness that feels like it’s deep within the soul, not resonating, but just calmly sitting. No fidgeting, no impulsive need to check my phone, just...there. It brings on a sense of true appreciation for the world around you, and I guess you could say that’s valuable in times like these, where uncertainty and chaos loom on the horizon. Stepping away from the constant screeching of shock value and sensationalism is almost like stepping into another world - a world where the wind blows through your hair, your lungs fill with the smell of grass and leaves, and you just feel whole. I stop thinking of myself, of my worries and anxieties, of couldas and wouldas and shouldas. It’s like they just don’t exist out here on the porch, like I’m on the other side of life in this faded and chipped Adirondack chair, looking at it through a clear pane of glass. The smokescreens and sleight-of-hand that televisions and the internet throw don’t apply here, it’s just the wind, the trees, and the buzzing of cicadas calling out for one last hoorah before their time is up. I find myself admiring the stoic wisdom of the trees as I watch their branches sway gently in the breeze. Occasionally a leaf will flip and tumble gently toward the ground, but it isn’t thrown or dropped. It’s as if the tree just opens it’s hand and lets the leaf go where it may without a thought for where and how, unconcerned with the loss of it’s companion, maybe just quietly appreciative of the time they spent together. There’s a metaphor there somewhere, something noble and graceful about how we approach life, or at least how we should. I couldn’t be bothered to think too deeply on it though. Maybe it will come to me eventually, maybe I already know, maybe it’s nothing at all; for now, I’ll just sip my tea and admire.