Early in the morning, I wrapped an oversized fleece plaid blanket around my shoulders just as the light of dawn was taking hold. I was in my favorite chair on my screen porch, looking out to my backyard.
Thatās when I saw him: a grey-and-rust colored coyote, walking slowly through my backyard! He stopped for long pauses to sniff the air and look around. He didn’t seem to notice me. He was in no hurry. He looked to be out on a Lazy Sunday stroll.
This was a fantastic start to my day. Seeing that gorgeous coyote, in the suburbs where I didnāt expect to see him, made me feel as though Iād witnessed something special; something that wasnāt meant for me.
It felt even more special because Iām a reluctant waker-upper. Today for some reason, my eyes popped open at a strangely early hour, so I grabbed my notebook and pen and tiptoed to the porch.
The only reason I was out there so early was because of an idea I read about recently, from one of my favorite writers, Ann Handley. I subscribe to her fortnightly newsletter, āTotal Annarchy.ā Handley wrote about a daily writing habit sheās developed called “15 Minutes of Sunday.” I was so taken by the idea that I went out that day and bought myself a composition notebook to start my own 15 Minutes of Sunday habit. (This habit is for all days of the week, but encapsulates the āEasy Like Sunday Morningā feeling.)
As I wrote my pages for 15 minutes, I paused between sentences, becoming more and more aware of the early morning symphony that I usually miss: the breeze passing through the cottonwoods: a waxy, papery rustle of huge restless trees that seem to wonder what it might feel like to no longer be anchored down by their roots. My wind chimes trilled from time to time, too, and behind those sounds hummed the constant rushing of traffic from the nearby highway. Even a distant train whistle sighed.
ā15 Minutes of Sundayā is transforming me into an intentional noticer. It forces me to slow down at times so I can mentally catalog the things I see each day, knowing Iāll be writing down some of the details later. Each day is a new opportunity to capture little treasures amongst the ordinary. It keeps my ears open; my eyes wide.
The more I look, the lovelier the world becomes. Iām appreciating the sounds of a baby pointing from her stroller and calling out ādoggie!!ā as I walk my dog. Or observing a man recently help an older gentleman find his sleeve as he struggled to shrug on his coat. The sound of an owl hooting in the trees surprised me as I took out the garbage late at night, adding an element of awe to one of my least favorite tasks.
On the lowest days, the world can feel as though it consists of pain, injustice, sickness and strife. Itās hard to find the good when it feels like suffering and grief are closing in around us. Can feelings of failure, embarrassment, hurt, and disappointment in life be beautiful, too?
Thatās an idea that’s a bit harder to embrace. Iām trying ā trying ā to accept that even in this broken world, there is beauty between the cracks. That is a bittersweet kind of lovely, too.
