A flutter near me in the grass catches my eye.
A flutter in the grass near me.
I lift my sunglasses and look closely. Intently. Waiting to discover.
A small frog crawls from under the grass and sits still for a moment. For a moment we sit together.
The water is fifteen feet way and five feet down, over a concrete wall, and I wonder why the frog is even there and how it got there. I push the thought away and just enjoy the moment with it. It does a little hop. Crawls some, and hops again. I watch it for a moment and I want to show you but I can't.
All of these moments we can't share. Lean in to whisper and you aren't there.
Sip from my water bottle and turn back toward the sun. I know the frog will wander off. I know I'm missing my last chances to watch it, but sometimes you just have to let the world be. Sometimes you just have to let things happen. Let things go. So I stare at the water.
Soft and shifting diamonds of orange against the dark grey and I reach for peace in that.
The water shifts and flows and I think of the saying "you cannot step into the same river twice" or however it goes.
Nothing is the same a second time.
By now the frog is gone and the sun has set behind the trees and my water bottle is nearly empty and I'm thinking of you again.
I exhale and watch the river for a bit longer.
