While I was writing yesterday morning, Randa came into the office and quickly walked over to the northeast window. Openly the blinds, she said, “Look at this.”
A reddish orange glow filled the sky beyond and above the tree line, bright, vivid, surreal. I looked, briefly, returned to my writing. “We ought to go down and sit on the porch for a few minutes,” I thought, “Watch the sky for a while.” I decided to do that, just as soon as I finished the piece I was writing, which was nearly done.
Five minutes later, I completed the contemplation and posted it to my blog. Downstairs, I walked through the living room and stepped onto the porch. The sky was a colorless block of gray, not even the slightest tinge of color. Apparently, the first bit of morning found the sun shining briefly through a low opening in the clouds that closed as the front edged eastward. That glorious burst of color lasted only three or four minutes.
There are times when our duties, or at least our perceptions of them, keep us from indulging in some pleasure, no matter how pure or simple. Dishes need washing, grass needs mowing, bills need paying and on and on. There’s a price to pay for deferring those demands. Simple tasks often become more challenging if neglected.
But there is also a price to pay when we fail to notice or fail to take time for the unexpected opportunities of simple satisfaction. In a world where the ordinary can become spectacular, yet last only an instant, we ought to live with our eyes open.