On Monday morning, I visited our backyard garden to pick several cherry tomatoes and a handful of blackberries from the vine. Holding these tiny nutritional gems in the palm of my hand warmed me, knowing that my husband John had nurtured each one for months. From soil to plate, the garden lifecycle for this small harvest was now complete. Today, John will tend to the remaining garden, and I will toss the tomatoes and blackberries into a larger breakfast salad to nourish us. Food is as much about the spirit as it is about nutrition.

Our backyard is wild by design. Before I retreat into the kitchen, I walk to the edge of the yard for my morning conversation with the group of zinnias encircling our new cherry tree. Most of them are close to three feet tall, but one, in particular, is almost as tall as I am. Granted, that is not saying much; I am barely five feet tall myself, but still…

“Are you going to make it, friend?” I ask.

The pretty pink flower bows in the breeze, but I know this plant will not reach five feet. This one has already started to go to seed. I sigh, but such is the nature of life. My lovely floral friend will leave a few seedy remnants to nourish life on the ground.

At the feeder, a hummingbird is busy sampling fresh nectar, and bees are busy with the butterfly bush. If I am lucky, a few butterflies will visit our colorful yard offerings.

Like most mornings, I head for the metal table and sit beneath the umbrella to watch and listen. Even in retirement, there is pressure to stay busy. The kitchen calls to me. Isn’t it time for breakfast?

My inner voice is wiser. No, be still. Just watch and listen to the life around you. This morning the world is as it should be. It doesn’t matter that this morning is like yesterday. Yes, there are subtle changes, but both the changes and the sameness are a sight to behold and so easy to miss. This moment, too, will quickly be gone, but I can capture the peace and beauty of the moment simply with a pause.

The major events of life are the stuff of dreams and goals, soon-to-be memories that are often few and far between. They are special, but I find life connects in the ordinary; the rhythms of each day provide fabric to my existence. This moment is my sanctuary.

Around me, the cicadas chatter, a certain sign of August and the coming fall. Life moves on, whether tomorrow comes for me or not. But at this moment, I have breathed in life deeply. I have lived it well.