Our backyard haven had been missing or unusable for much of the summer. The back deck, small and decrepit, had been scraped and rebuilt over the course of the previous five weeks.
In addition, Roger had been gone nearly a month for work.
But everything shifted back into place recently as we christened our new-and-improved deck together. I’d been sitting that Saturday afternoon with a good book and my MellowFaves playlist serenading me softly on our outdoor speakers. We’d just had a brief summer rain and the temperature was a comfortable 75°.
Roger finally arrived home and the kids and I greeted him enthusiastically. Roger handed me a a bottle of wine made by some friends from grapes grown in their backyard and I served it up in twin goblets. After crawling all over him for a bit, the kids returned to their play on the lawn, and Roger and I were left to catch up over all the small and large things that had passed since we last had a good chunk of time to spend together. It was divinely relaxing, so sweet to know that all was in place again.
This was our background noise:
Nothing incredible or spectacular — just 16 seconds of normal life made perfect simply by the fact that I noticed it.
Perfect Moment Monday is about noticing a perfect moment rather than creating one. Perfect moments can be momentous or ordinary or somewhere in between.
On the last Monday of each month we engage in mindfulness about something that is right with our world. Everyone is welcome to join. The next Perfect Moment Monday event will begin August 27.
Earlier this week we celebrated a time of balance, the moment in which the earth is midway on her path between solstices. Even the word equinox, equal night, denotes balance.
The precise time of the spring equinox was 11:14 pm where I live, so I didn’t mark it with much fanfare. However, 10 hours later, a friend from yoga class accompanied me to a local labyrinth on a hill.
I walked a labyrinth years ago on the autumnal equinox. I am lured to labyrinths as a walking meditation. With a winding path, you don’t really know how long the journey is or how you’ll get to where you’re going. You know only that if you keep putting one foot in front of the other, you will experience it all. The labyrinth itself leads you through and you don’t have to make any decisions other than to move forward (unlike with a maze).
As I walk I find myself wanting to look ahead to the next turn. Each time I gently bring my mind back to the one step I’m on. I find balance everywhere. I’m certain, though I haven’t counted, that the number of left turns is equal to the number of right turns. Some the time I’m walking the inside of the labyrinth and some the time I’m walking the outside of it. I am alternatively inhaling and exhaling. The earth and I are in this exquisite and fleeting moment of balance.
And I am aware of it.
The morning is chilly, about 40 degrees (4° C). Still, I remove one of my jackets and take a perch at the center of the labyrinth on a tree stump. I decide to offer up tree pose with half lotus. Nothing too difficult, but fitting in with the morning’s theme of balance and calm. My friend snaps a photo.
I was surprised later when I saw this photo by the joy on my face. I thought at the instant my friend clicked the shutter that I was fighting amid the shivers to stay balanced on the stump. But clearly I was in heaven. Rooted yet rising.
Did you do anything special to usher in spring? (Or, for my southern hemisphere friends, autumn?)