Being Breath

stories from the wilderness of everyday life

Footprints On The Window

 

While trying to write this, I've stopped to ask my son to get his feet off of the window, pour cereal for my daughter who just woke up, jumped to another tab because I suddenly remembered I needed to check our account, asked my son again to get his feet off of the window, and spaced out while listening to the crow outside.

All of these things are happening.

I get frustrated only when I think I'm supposed to be writing a blog post.

 

Because the footprints on the window?  That's life.  That's happiness.  

Why do I expect it to be any different?

 

Namaste.