The morning begins with nothing planned on the calendar. A blank day has begun. Then slowly, the day is populated with things to eat, small tasks to complete. I remember that I want to read another chapter in a book that a group of us are meeting to discuss tomorrow. Are there more leaves to be raked from the bottom of the pond?
The blank day I saw the moment I turned off the alarm is slowly taking on an engaging shape. I want to put away the vases I cleaned yesterday and left perched on my counter. The repair I made on the laundry basket wants to be checked and experienced as complete and secure. There is that neighbor I want to contact for a committee on the environment.
Soon I have invited a gardener friend to sit with me and watch brave plants emerge. The blank moments where I saw nothing to do today have come alive with shape and color. A whole myriad of exciting action seems to have risen out of a vacant mist.
There will be new growing plants to welcome in the garden. First, I must read today’s poem by Rosemerry. What is it that Heather had to say about yesterday’s news? Garrison will fill my rousing mind with tidbits of insight about how today is linked to a literary past.
I will soon pick up the folded newspaper from the front steps, glancing at headlines that invite me to read more. I will ignore most of their invitation, having read all I need to know in their crisp announcement. The blinds need to be raised, tea wants to be made, the floor will remind me to sweep.
So much excitement, so many interesting engagements, so many ways to become mindful and aware on a day that was so blank only moments ago.