taking a moment

last night i stopped for a moment. i watched a pair of bats swirling and swinging, snatching their dinners out of the dusky sky.

yesterday afternoon i stopped for a moment and stood on the stairs by the faculty car park. i breathed in the smell of the cows (no eewwws please--as odd as it may sound they are a childhood comfort smell for me) and closed my eyes, closed my mind where it tries to tendril off toward work and responsibilities and just listened to the warbles and trills and the wind in the leaves.

right now i am taking a moment. listening to "running up that hill" and writing this. thinking about the inspiring words i just read.

too much of my day is spent behind a desk, in meetings, classrooms--talking, preparing, doing chores when i would rather be elsewhere. i am not whining. i need to work. i like my students. i love teaching. i just forget the big picture--i lose it among all the little nasty jobs that need to get done. i need to remember to take a moment and breathe, pull back and remember other things that are just as important as "making a living".  I want to make a life, live well--not just go through my day as I "make a living".

fireflies--hotaru

we drove an hour and a half south and waited in the quiet shadows of evening.
there were no cars or machines or people (or mosquitoes, that was a bonus.)  there was only the sound of the water, crickets and frogs.

one by one the lights began to come on--small glowing pinpoints floating out of the darkness where trees line the riverbank. soon there were hundreds blinking on and off--a mad cheshire heartbeat; a string of Christmas decorations in the air.

it was astonishing. we were mesmerized. we didn't speak, only nudged and pointed. we stayed until they began to hide away slowly disappearing under leaves and stems. "OMG!" "Wow!" "We'll have to come back next year."

it was not my first time, but i have never such a gathering. if i close my eyes i can still see them. short, beautiful rainy season gift.