Mindfulness is all the rage now. They say it's good for our health.
Wake up, breathe, pay attention to the moment. When I do,
I fall in love with the red, orange, gold leaves
I pass on my walk through the neighborhood:
L.A.'s loud winter leaves, intense as extroverts.
I fall in love with quiet, too: the chill of morning
when I slip out in my pajamas
to get the newspaper tossed in my driveway.
I could say I'm in love with boring things, too,
like oatmeal, still and bland in its bowl.
In love with this porridge—and how seductive it becomes
when I add chia seeds, cinnamon, and blueberries.

My granddaughters can't wait to see the bunnies
on the way to the park, two of them behind a fence
in a neighbor's yard. We stop to watch them eat carrots,
lettuce, cucumbers, twitching as they stare back at us.
Scampering from here to there, one corner to another.
It's enough for the girls, more than enough.
I'm in love with their smiles, their hi bunnies,
bye bunnies, their giggling love
for these creatures who don't do much more—
one could say—than eat, sleep, twitch, scamper,
which—one could argue—is just what we do.


© by Lori Levy.
Used with the author's permission.