a moment

There are so many things I’ve always taken for granted. The million little moments in between the action of life is when you really live I think. These moments are so small, we forget them almost instantly. But they stay with us. They come back again and again in the inhalation of a breath. Newly clipped grass, the whir of a fan in the heat of summer darkness, they way it mixes with the sounds of insects calling and the way their little bodies beat against the lights on lampposts. It’s in the silence of that moment, when the wind whispers a breath along your skin, and you can feel the rain coming soon. You listen lying in a tangle of covers to the pit pat drop splash of the first beginnings of rain and you never forget. You think you do, but it is always there. And when you hear it again it comes back like the very first time.

Little silent moments making up our lives and we don’t even know it. The inhalation of cut wood, the way spring crept out of the ground and thawed the earth and your heart until wet dirt was more than aromatherapy, the feeling of your skin against his, the way it sounds when he runs a hand up your side, the delicious tingle. All these little things are locked in your mind waiting to spring forward when we stop a moment and take it all in. Anyone can scoff about the figure of speech to stop and smell the roses or the coffee or what you will. But it’s all about what you remember. And you might have the best pictures of your trip to the coast or the college years you lived so well. But you will always remember rain in summer, the sound of a fan in the dark, and your skin rubbing next to his in the silken heavy silence.