Going Through the Jungle

Or, Being Aware

It’s one of those evenings.

New neighbors across the street means three more kids about Little Bean’s age have become part of the gang.

One, the littlest of the bunch, wanders through our garden.

“Going through the jungle,” he yells. The jungle of cukes and tomatoes and carrots.

A bunch of the original gang have joined the three newbies and my daughter, the ring master, practices her cartwheels while the rest attack the swing set or play with the dog - the dog who is absolutely in utter frantic mode thanks to all the littles giving him attention.

My wife chats with the parents who have joined the kids and the day churns into evening there in a plot of vegetables and lawn chairs in a insignificant urban lot, in a insignificant city on a indistinguishable day like many, many others.

But I lean back and watch and listen because I know.

I know how important the moment is, the most important moment of them all. Nothing happens but everything is happening.

Nothing changes, but everyone is changed.

Only because we’re aware. Be aware and it all becomes a miracle.