This Moment. Write. Here.

The clouds race by, becoming Disney elephants and Seussical birds before stretching back into their ethereal shapelessness.

My chin rests here on the windowsill in the corner of the room. My feet, firmly planted on the heat grate in the floor. The warmth of the fired air brings me back to life and reminds me not to feel guilty for moments like these. Moments that wake from a nap with my not-so-little one. Moments that admire the natural beauty that surrounds our mountain oasis. Moments that move as swiftly as these clouds.

Life is bigger than the way I spend my Sunday. It’s certainly bigger than the moments in between.

Sure, I could be working, getting ready for the Tuesdays and Thursdays in between, the half-days, the staff days, ours and theirs both.

Sure, I could be working on the post that will accompany my calls for slices later this month. The one that I have had drafted since early last fall sits printed and premature on the middle of my desk.

Sure, I could be working on my summer classes, my manuscript, my housework, my home improvement projects, and on and on and on.

Sure, I could.

And today, life is no bigger than the way I spend my Sunday. It owes nothing to the moments in between.

So I sit at the window until the furnace stops firing, my toes nice and toasty. I move to the couch, grabbing my laptop to leisurely capture the scene, interrupted only by the persistent pooch who insists I throw his ball into the next room every eighth word or so. I laugh as he drops his slobbery sphere at the top of the keys, leaving a trail from backspace to touchpad. Something that would usually send me back to my desk, would have me holding out my foot to keep him at leg’s distance.

Today, life is no bigger than this way I’m spending my Sunday. I invite it all in, from the nap to the clouds to this game of interception. I owe nothing to the moments beyond.

I owe everything to this moment. Write. Here.