Sometimes I just like to glance at the sky. Not in a grand way, just peeking up and seeing what's present. Today it's a soft gray, like an old blanket pulled above the sun. It's not a sad gray, more of a calm gray. A reflecting gray. It makes the green leaves on the tree outside appear brighter, like they're boasting against the simple backdrop. They sway a little when the air moves. It's a pleasant thing to observe for a minute. How the home has its own melody, if you pause to notice it. There was a gentle hum from somewhere, perhaps a machine in another room fulfilling its task. A click every so often. The sound of my very breath, which is an odd thing to perceive. You don't usually detect that, do you But when it's silent, you do. It's a steady beat, like a gentle drum keeping rhythm. I recall the sensation of cool grass under my feet. It's a memory from a long time ago, from another season. The blades are soft and slightly damp, and they give under your weight. It feels like the ground is greeting in its own silent language. It's a nice feeling, a straightforward feeling. It makes you want to sit down right there and observe the clouds, to find forms in them. One seemed like a tired dog, another like a bumpy boat. They shift so swiftly, you must look quickly before they turn into something else altogether. There's something about a cup of warm fluid in your hands. It's not fancy, just warm. The heat seeps into your fingers and soothes them. You can see the little bits of nothing dance in the liquid if you hold it against the light. It's merely water, but it feels like a small companion on a slow day. It's there, and it's warm, and that's ample. Sometimes I reflect on how many tales are in the world. Every person you encounter has a whole universe inside their mind, full of thoughts and emotions and memories you'll never comprehend. They are all moving around with these hidden universes, brushing past one another, smiling or not smiling. It's a grand thought, a vast thought. It makes the world feel very immense and very tiny at the same time. Mostly, I just savor the silent moments. The interval between the loud noises. The sigh after a lengthy day. The sound of a page flipping in a book. The way light lands on the floor in a lengthy yellow stripe in the afternoon. These are the events that don't demand anything. They simply are. And that's pleasant. That's more than enough, really. It's good to simply exist, sometimes.
