The air is fresh cut this morning. Cool and new, rising off of the river bed below onto the porch and our quiet reverie here. For some reason, it's easy to disconnect here from all the worlds that are not right here. My phone sits alone in the bedroom most of the day. I quickly scan Facebook and Twitter, and discover that I'm taking much joy in being right here. Right now. With these people. And next week I will be with others and I want to have that same connection. I don't know why it's so easy, except for maybe that everyone else is connecting here too.I found this post from earlier this summer.
There are times I look back and think :: I wish I enjoyed that season more:: ... But this post reminds me that it is possible, to live in the moment, have nothing to regret or miss. Life is brief. Sweet. Enjoyed.
Now back to today and the simple counting of joys.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
—(One of my favorites by Yeats, When You Are Old)