We saw a fox cross the street and run down the sidewalk. We saw a jerk drive across his neighbor's lawn so that he could park in front of his own house rather than in his driveway. We saw people on bicycles, people walking dogs, kids walking to the nearby Walgreen's and coming back with toilet paper. Just neighborhood life.
I listened to Joni Mitchell, Leonard Cohen, and some of Donovan's jazz-inspired psychedelia like Bert's Blues. I wished I was a painter so that I could accurately portray our street, with its old cottages nestled in the trees, their gentle front porch lights, and their windows gold behind old-fashioned pull-down shades. Everything was amber and black, dotted with the lights from hundreds of fireflies. I watched one flying around in the top of the huge tree across the street. I didn't know they flew that high; they're usually nearer to the ground. I watched a star slide slowly down until it went behind a roof. I thought about things. I felt things. I watched the movie in my head and didn't try to direct it. I just watched. When I came indoors, I felt a nice little peace of mind, so I went to bed early and slept soundly.
Enjoying one's life is about gratitude. Gratitude for what one has, not what one doesn't have, and wants. Peace of mind grows from enjoying the small things first, and I believe that when we can do that, we attract the larger things. It's a philosophy I've been working hard to achieve over the years; last night I finally figured out that there's no work to it. All it takes is surrendering to life, to the fireflies, the stars, and the world going by.
