After I got out of the shower this morning, the house was quieter than it usually is. I came into the bedroom and found my boys had gone back to sleep: my husband curled around our son, their cheeks touching. I tiptoed out and reveled in the early morning quiet, making French toast and herby omelets. Watching the cats loll in the checkered sunlight on the floor. Taking the time to breathe; to notice the faint smoky haze across the room, making the light streaming through the window appear in falling rays.
I've been thinking lately about how each day is filled with choices that are momentary and small, yet when viewed from a wider angle, have an impact on a far greater scale in my life, and in the lives of others. Taking time the time to notice these small things---or not. Breathing deeply, in the moment---or forgetting to. But also choices like these: buying milk from the local organic dairy, instead of from huge national conglomerates that pump their cows full of hormones, or eating the small bumpy heirloom apples grown here, rather than the smooth skinned ones trucked in from across the country.
So often, I find myself reacting rather than consciously choosing. When tired, pushed to blurry limits, it's easy to forget to live with active intention. But since moving here, to this place where people stop when the light is GREEN to let a pedestrian walk across the street, I've started to make the daily effort. It matters. Every day matters.
When they woke up, my two guys looked so scrumptious I wanted to devour the both of them whole: pillow cheeks, rumpled hair, sweet smelling and drowsy from sleep. And because it was still early, we had time to eat together, giving thanks. Outside, I could hear geese calling, migrating south high up in the windy sky.