Spectating

What a wonderful, rare thing to be aware that you are existing in a moment that is wonderful. To not have to look back at that moment with yearning nostalgia, but to actually be able to appreciate its grandness as you soak it in with contented pleasure, letting it wash over you and linger. It is spiritual in the way a spiritual thing should be. Effortlessly peaceful.
I was tucked deep inside my couch when this moment came, gazing at the outside world through a picture window and white plantation blinds. Everything had been done. Ty and I had raked, mowed, vacuumed and swept. The stage was set. The rays of the fall sun were the spotlight, framing the moment with a glow which mirrored my own mood. I felt light. The couch was floating.
My legs and feet were covered with a blanket and I had a cup of coffee in my hands. I drank the warm liquid slowly. There was no rush, only time to savor. Ty was sitting opposite me with his attention toward the outdoors, both of us mesmerized by the sun that shone through the Big Maple’s remaining leaves, illuminating them in golden brilliance. It was the leaves’ one last etch into the beauty of the neighborhood sky before they swirled down to earth. Applause seemed appropriate.
Rectangular strips of sun painted themselves onto our rug and I kept gazing out the window—like a cat on the windowsill, overseeing fall’s great production. Across the street there was a tire swing gently dancing with the November breeze and a father and daughter out raking leaves. A baby was strapped to the father’s chest, making the act of raking an entertaining struggle for both. The daughter, who looked about six, soon took over, but fared no better as the rake was bigger than she was. It was an overwhelmingly charming scene, such that our 1950s neighborhood is given to showcasing.
I read a whole book right there in that spot, sipping my coffee and occasionally looking out at the world outside. Across the street, the father and daughter had retreated into their home, yard half raked and leaves still falling. The sun had gone down as I read. Curtains had closed. Time had not stood still as it had felt. The world kept moving.
I felt outside of it.