Smiling to Myself

I have had so many moments of contemplation since I have been back on my own that I can't even recall the number.  You know the moments: the times when the temperature is just right, the breeze is just right, the sounds are just right, a feeling is just right, or any other perfect moment presents itself and is noticed.  At first I thought maybe that was it--I was just noticing them.  After all, with only me here my new house is quiet.  In addition to the quiet in the house, there is quiet outside the house.  I would find myself noticing it and drinking it all in.  I would smile to myself.

Standing naked at the open, chest-high bedroom window moments before getting into bed, I would lean on the windowsill, looking out at the sky.  I'd find myself inhaling deeply as I stood, letting my eyes close slightly as I tasted the summer evening air with my hungry nostrils.  When I opened my eyes, the the clouds--lit by the waning sun--seem to invite me to watch.  "Don't close your window yet!" they seem to say.  I watched them, marveling at the various shades of pale pink, peach yellow, and purple-blue as if it were my private show.  At that moment it was if time was frozen.  I would smile to myself, wanting the moment to go on forever.  When I would finally relent, telling myself I have to go to bed, I didn't want to close the window or the blinds right away.  I would lay on top of my bed, eyes closed, listening, smelling, and reliving the almost spiritual experience I had at the window moments before.  I would fall asleep almost instantly, and yes--I would be smiling to myself.  Sure, I would awaken a little later and close the window and blinds, but that didn't matter.  I had my moment of appreciation.

Lying out in the back yard in the glaring hot sun, I would be in the same state.  Taking deep, slow breaths it was if I was breathing for the first time, and I was reveling in the feeling of the sun baking my skin, my vision blood-red from the sun glaring on my closed eyelids.  The sounds of chickens a short distance away, clucking as they searched for food was punctuated with an occasional rooster crow or squawk from a goose.  The sound of a plane would catch my attention and I'd listen to it, mentally tracking with my eyes closed as it went across the sky.  Suddenly, a breeze would come up, cooling me with a welcome relief and making the trees come alive with a whoosh of fluttering leaves.  I smiled to myself.  I think if anyone were to see me at that moment they would see the smile slowly spread across my face as if I had just recalled a pleasant memory.

Recently, the rain came.  After two months of nary a sprinkle, thunderstorms arrived.  For those of you that don't live here, we are seldom blessed with thunder and lightning.  The shelter of mountains on both sides of us usually prevent us from any of nature's light shows.  When the skies darkened with thick clouds and the slow rumble spread across the land that afternoon, I smiled to myself.  As I sat in my living room that day, I heard a soft ping.  Then another.  And another.  Then it occurred to me I was hearing the slow build of a summer rain, and the pinging sound was the heavy drops as they hit the metal chimney top--the sound coming down through the fireplace.  I stopped what I was doing and listened to the music.  The pinging from the chimney, the soft patter of the building rain hitting the canvas gazebo roof on the patio, punctuated with the occasional bass rumble of thunder.  And yet--it was still warm enough to have all the windows open.  It was perfect.  I smiled to myself.  When I went to bed that night it was raining heavily, and I stood at the window as I always do--breathing deep, listening, and feeling the cool breezes that came with the rain.  When I lay down on top of my bed and closed my eyes, the sounds that came with the rain were pleasant to fall asleep to.  There was no abundance of roof noise, downspout noise, or any other noise associated with the rain.  It was music.

I smiled to myself.