Just like that, the birds are greater in number - hungrier and more talkative.
(It's like a switch got flipped one night and here they all are, readying for spring.)
Just like that, the front yard is full of sparkling white diamonds.
(Just a moment ago, the yard was a blue blanket expanse reflecting the sky above - then suddenly, the sunlight is out from behind the house and it renders each new snowflake into a tiny prism.)
Just like that, the six hour drive to Morristown is over.
(The world is a 65 mph roar of cars and pavement and people - then an off ramp dumps us off and within minutes, we are silent and motionless in an empty church parking lot.)
Just like that, the soundcheck is over.
(The Sohmer baby grand is loud and fierce, and my voice and Shawn's bass are filling in around its edges. Then suddenly, the sanctuary is silent again, ready for the muffled conversations of concert goers and volunteers.)
Just like that, my dear friend Dotty is standing right in front of me!
(She was a voice in my left ear the other day, and now I'm standing here hugging her tightly and both of us are smiling!)
Just like that, my coffee cup is empty.
(And just a few moments before, I was breathing in the steam, savoring each warm, buttery sip.)
Just like that, a new song has taken shape.
(I've been kicking this can around for months! Wow, I love this groove...)
Moment after moment, all day every day, there are transitions that are as profound as they are ordinary. Recently, I've been practicing being more aware of those transitions - opening and closing doors; standing up from my desk; picking up the phone; checking my inbox; putting away the dishes. I've been trying to view each one as an invitation to look a little more closely, to notice what I'm thinking about as I put the plates away, or as I chop this onion, or as I open the car door, and noticing how that thought is coloring how I feel. Am I worried about anything? Eager? Excited? Sad?
Just like that, I'm done with this blog post.
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