Present

I would once draw metaphors from water. Swimming through the clear blue lanes would start a running commentary of my recent frustrations or perhaps a poem of angst. The rhythm of my breathing would be lost among the thoughts and I would find myself huffing and puffing at the end of the lap, shaking my head from side to side to get the talking to stop rather than the water out of my ears. It was so noisy underwater; silent screams of anxiety.

Now all I see is the black line painted on the bottom of the lane. All I feel is the water, cooling my skin. And all I hear is the sound of my breath.

I am present. What a gift.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s