Forgetting Myself

I am sitting on the back porch looking out over the meadow behind our house. The sun is high in the sky, its heat tempered by a light breeze. A couple of Grackles are swinging on my suet feeder, stealing grub I had in mind for that elusive Flicker that visits occasionally. I should shoo them away. But I sit. The scent from the lilac bush tickles my nose, its heady perfume not quite full strength–the clusters of tiny flowers having not yet opened entirely. In the quiet I think I hear the whisper of petals unfolding. When the wind picks up, the air is dappled white as the apple tree sheds her glory. I picture the hand of The One Who Holds Everything gently tipping a giant salt shaker as petals surf the breeze around me, seasoning this day. Or is it sugar, these white flecks? It must be sugar. Because the sweetness of the moment falls on me like so many petals on the wind.

This is where I am.

Join me over at HighCallingBlogs for more on our first book club discussion of The Right to Write: An Invitation and Initiation into the Writing Life...