The moon had just come up behind the church tower. The night was sweet and jasmine-scented. She loaded the dishwasher with exaggerated attention. She had read somewhere that, even when loading the dishwasher, paying attention to every tiny moment could be counted as a Zen practice. Apparently all one had to do was be aware and stay present to be in the moment. Despite all the yoga she had never been sure what being in the moment really meant. Yet she tried to savor sliding the plates into their slots one by one. She waited.
Adjustsd her breathing.
Maybe that was it.
As precious as all the others that she had let go by without noticing, and now so stark in it's uniqueness and unrepeatability.
She stood in front of the dirty plates and concentrated harder, waiting for further epiphany. The breeze carried Ben's voice whispering sweet somethings into his phone while Leo sat in the dark smoking a joint and she could hear him exhale.
Then the moment passed.
Francesca Marciano, The Other Language