A Letter from Right Now

Dear Tomorrow,
When you get this, it will be a new day.  This simple moment will have passed and it will no longer be Today, but Yesterday.  So before its gone, I want to tell you about Right Now.

At this moment, I am sitting on the sofa. As predicted, the rain has arrived.  As I look out my window, itsfalling in sheets on the front garden, hammering down on the leaves of my plants.  My enormous grass with 8 foot high seed heads looks like it is dancing to some frenetic tribal beat.  Huge streams of water are running off of the roof of the cottage across the street and the heavy rain is obscuring the view of anything else around.

 

The rain started within the last few moments of my working day.  As I mentally prepared to pack up and go, I looked out the window and realised my lack of a coat was going to be a severe impediment to my homeward journey.  So I stayed.  Dug a bit deeper into what I was doing.

 

Awhile later, the rain let up enough to have me whisk Ellis home on the bike, but we still arrived soaked and cold. Clothes were changed into pyjamas and I am wearing my red and white flannel bear ones (one can almost always wear flannel pyjamas in Scotland).  Ellis is pushing his fire engine up and down the coffee table.  He's telling me about what he's doing in a mix of his own language and something that resembles English. His face is smeared with peanut butter from his snack upon arriving home. My green ball of yarn and half-made hat is sitting next to me, begging to be continued.  I can hear the tomato soup bubbling on the stove. We wait for Kevin to come home from work so we can once again be the triumvirate of ordinary that's having grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.

I wanted to capture this moment.  I wanted to capture the threads of everydayness that string together the big events and busy goings-ons.
So, Tomorrow, when I get caught up in Now and Next, I want to remember this moment I may have otherwise forgotten.

See ya, Tomorrow.

Kat