{How it looks. Some of the time.}
We followed the afternoon sun, and by early afternoon, we were camped by door ajar, lying just inside, the breeze warm on our faces. On the carpeted floor, patterns were created, shadows drawn of the curled flourishes of the mesh screen door. Omar lazed, head propped on the woven door snake, and Olive sat like a plumped out sphinx, watching the world from safe vantage point, ears alert. I have my third coffee, cool. I hear autumn leaves blowing down the street, and a car or two passes. I wish moments like this could last but realise quickly that that is why they are so wonderful, because they do not last; they are fleeting, like sun patches in our house. In an hour it will pass. Maybe sooner. Maybe the sun will become hidden by clouded mass. Maybe something will beep from the other room and I will remember all the emails I need to reply to, the phone calls I need to make. Those who live in the present are masterful, I’m sure of it. It is a skill to think only of this moment, this hour, this day. I am working on it.
