Except in moments.

Admittedly, for the past five years or so, I have been constantly "in pursuit," whether of travel, stability, adventure, love, independence, or simple newness of experience, I have been so rarely complacent, so rarely okay with (let alone ever "happy with") where I was and what I was doing.

Then this morning, we decide to make breakfast, doing a complex dance about the kitchen, "could you pass me the whisk?" "excuse me just a sec, I need another bowl, please," as if we'd practiced hundreds of times with foot decals stuck to the floor to guide us. A hearty, uncomplicated meal, buckwheat waffles with fresh strawberries and bananas, and the best scrambled eggs I've ever had, but something about it catalyzed a sense of calm satisfaction like I haven't experienced in ages.

We sat quietly by a window in the slant, autumn light, the sun playing delicately through the blowing leaves and creating patterns in shadows on the door. Yann Tiersen made his own magic on the airwaves, we offered our own brand of charming or affectionate or silly, and simple ingredients in specific measure (aside from that last 1/4C of whole wheat flour I added, rebelliously) came together so easily, so perfectly as to make me feel as if there was nothing else I'd ever really need so long as these moments come frequently.

Those moments of calm, that sense of honest peace does not come easily these days. It hasn't now for years. Sometimes, though, on a Saturday I can pretend is a Sunday, I can sink into it so happily, so comfortably, as if it were made just for me.

"and know there is more that you can't see, can't hear can't know except in moments"