Awake

It happens often enough lately that I think it fair to call it a new nighttime ritual. The younger boy child slides open a shoji door, enters and walks laps around the low table where I sit at my computer in the center of the tatami room. In his mouth is a toothbrush. He brushes as he walks. I speak and he utters true to amusing young adolescent boy replies. Some nights he’ll do two or three laps; tonight it was a good dozen or more before his stop at the door and toothbrush-in-mouth mumbled “good-night” was followed by the wood on wood snap of papered doors closing. 

Usually I go right back to what I was doing, but tonight I just sat for a moment, closed my eyes and focused on my breath to better take it all in. 

A contented smile ensued.

This Life!

It’s so easy to focus more on judging its meanness  than recognizing its miraculousness. The result is missing a myriad of wonders. 

I cringe to consider how many of its joys have passed without me even noticing? 

Oh well. What's done is done.

But not this time. 

For this one I was awake.