How often do I sit there, and just consider the day? Not so often.

How often do I sit there, on this stoop I’ve lived behind for half my life? No often enough. I’ve lived in this house, on this street, longer than I’ve lived anywhere else in my life.

And how often have I sat on the stoop, listening to the cars up and down Winchester, listen to the birdsong from the bushes and trees, watch the day wane to the west.

Not often enough. But I did today.

The Morning Dove sat on the street light. The ants crawled across the brick. The wind gently moved the high grass under the Maple.

And I was just there. So thankful to just be there.