So you're seated at an outside patio on a pleasant late summer/early fall evening on a street lined with shade trees with leaves just starting to change color but still hanging onto their limbs and girls ride by on vintage bicycles while you're savoring each bite of the indiginous salmon and cream cheese appetizer in between sips of iced tea that is opaque in the dappled sunlight and you're so very comfortable and enjoying the conversation with both your grown sons who haven't been in the same state, even the same country for way too long and your husband is happy and relaxed and you're slightly, almost unconsciously aware of the light laughter and shared energy of people dining around you who seem to also be savoring an evening al fresco meal because they won't be possible too much longer, when in the middle of all the abundance, the sight of something so exquisite in its delicate beauty causes you to look again,
and you lose the conversation,
forget your meal,
and extract yourself unwittingly from the time before you and around you for a moment.
Just a moment.
That carefully placed, exquisite rose in a simple mason jar.
A pebble on a stack of paper.
A whisper of blue lobelia.
The moment, the sunlight, the air, the flower catching them all.
As if the evening wasn't so sumptuous enough already.
How, in moments like this,
can you possibly contain and fully understand how incomprehensibly rich this life is?