Some mornings are made out of stillness. In the hour before I have to step into the shower and begin the regimented routine that will run like clockwork and ultimately deposit me at the office, I sit in the dining room and stare out the window at a scene made mostly of this stillness. Without even a breeze, not a single leaf moves, not one blade of fountain grasses twists in this silence. Then a happy commotion: a trio of goldfinches alights on the cup plant, disrupting the eerie scene with happy abandon. They are there for the seedheads which are finally beginning to ripen and fall. I pause to watch the three of them there, their bright-yellow feathers accented with splotches of black, almost like a mirror and camouflage beside the similar color scheme of the fading flowers.
All the beauty of the world, right there in my backyard.
A breeze picks up and the grasses begin to sway. Still, the finches peck away at their breakfast, the towering stems of the cup plant moving gently with their weight and the arrival of wind. I thought it was going to rain today, but it hasn’t started yet. Taking in the moment is nourishment for the soul.
