A breath of joy

"Can you imagine that only one minute goes by every minute?  That is exactly what happens.  It is strange, but it is true, though from the way we behave one might think that five minutes could rush past in thirty seconds.  

No, every minute counts as much as the next, every hour as much as the next... You may say, 'Shall I have time to do it all?'  I will answer you in a very Russian way: 'If you do not die first, you will have time to do it.  If you die before it is done, you don't need to do it.' "

-- Anthony Bloom, Beginning to Pray

 I don't know about you, but even though life has slowed down a bit it still feels like I am always rushing from one thing to the next.  Except in the mornings.  Then -- because I know I am slow to wake up -- I take my time and don't load up with to-do lists.  Which means that when I'm walking through the standard morning tasks -- like taking the dog out to pee -- I have time to notice.

This morning, in the dark sky above our deck, I saw Orion.  Not such a big deal to you, I'm sure, but to see Orion in November, however briefly, is amazing in my part of the world.  Because this time of the year, the sky is ALWAYS cloudy.

But there it was -- though unphotographable with the little camera I use these days -- the stars of that distinctive belt stark against the night sky, the whole constellation delicately framed in a circle of cloud wisps, their edges lit lightly by the half moon, though the rest of the sky was cloudy.  The blessing was -- I saw it.  Breathed in the clarity and the light, paused on the steps and just thanked the sky for showing me her beauty.

... and then my husband called to say he'd run out of gas on the way to the ferry; could I bring the gas can?  And so the rush begins again -- but there was, at the beginning, that lovely deep breath of wonder...

I know, this image has little to say about any of this -- except, well -- I like looking at it.  The colors feel to me the same way Orion felt: like a breath of joy.