Staying here

On my run plod this morning, I was out thinking how nice it was to be able to cross streets willy-nilly. This isn't an early-rising kind of town. As a matter of fact, I didn't use to be an early-rising kind of gal, either. Thank you, children.

At any rate, I turned into my favorite shoreline loop and it hit me -- the water in the bay as still as though it were a glacial lake, and a single least tern, as graceful as a ballerina and as fierce as a hockey player, wheeling over the water. At the top of a loop, wings folded, it plummeted into the water and disappeared.

Two strides later, up it flew to repeat the performance.

And suddenly, I realized, this happens whether I'm here or not. In fact, most of life happens whether I'm there or not.

So, how do I get to really be there in the bits I get to witness? How to appreciate my legs and feet, carrying me through an early summer morning? How to drink in the tousled heads of my kids, wandering in for a morning hug? How to appreciate the parts of my house that never do seem to get cleaned? How to appreciate the endless worried emails from my students?

I have to figure out how to be here. Now, and now, and now forevermore. Or at least as forevermore as I get.