Behind the Puddle

Thank you, August. You weren’t the beginning. By the time you arrived, the patio already felt like mine. The birds knew where the feeders were.

Pinecone had already introduced themselves and apparently added our yard to the regular dining rotation. Stella and Stanley had become familiar shapes along the puddle. Shelly had already taught us that sometimes the neighbors prefer a little privacy. The baby geese and mallards weren’t nearly as little anymore.

I had already spent enough mornings sitting in this chair to know that something about me was changing. August didn’t introduce me to the puddle. August let me settle into it. Maybe that’s what I’ll remember most.

July still held so much discovery. I was constantly asking, “Who is that? What’s swimming over there? Did you see that? Where did that come from?” August felt different. The excitement didn’t disappear, but it softened into familiarity.

Instead of always discovering something new, I started recognizing what was already here. My thoughts became, “There you are. I know you. I’ve been wondering where you’ve been.” Somewhere in that familiarity, I began understanding that paying attention isn’t only about what we see.

It is also about what happens to us because we keep looking. This month reminded me to listen, to be patient with things still unfolding, and to be present for ordinary days. It taught me to recognize quieter forms of joy, care without believing everything is mine to control, and make room for difference.

August reminded me to stay curious about things I thought I knew, recognize peace when it quietly sat down beside me, and think about what makes a place home. It asked me to accept that everything changes, even the things I wish would stay exactly as they are. It encouraged me to keep looking with wonder, notice the communities created simply because lives keep showing up beside one another, and trust continuity. It also reminded me that fullness includes rest.

This month taught me to look backward occasionally and recognize the gifts I couldn’t see while I was living them. It reminded me to make room for delight that accomplishes absolutely nothing, value the relationships built through thousands of ordinary moments, and understand that awareness eventually changes the way we live. It helped me recognize treasure before everything had become a memory and appreciate what is here without requiring it to become something else first.

That’s quite a lot for one little puddle and one month. But August also gave me something else. It gave me more ordinary days.

There were days sitting beside Brian, days with the girls, and days when the dogs wandered in and out. There were days when the feeders were busy and days when they weren’t. There were hot days, rainy days, quiet mornings, and evenings when we stayed outside a little longer. There were days when something happened that was worth writing about.

There were also days when nothing happened at all. I am beginning to think those days may be some of the ones I am most grateful to have lived. August didn’t need to be extraordinary to matter.

Neither did I. Neither did any of us. We were here, life continued, and I noticed a little more of it than I might have before.

Tomorrow, the calendar will say September. The light will continue changing. Summer will begin loosening its grip. Some of our visitors will eventually leave, and others may arrive.

The puddle will become whatever the next season asks it to become. I will keep sitting here as long as I can, watching it happen. I do not need the puddle to teach me something every day, and every observation does not need to become a story.

Sometimes it is enough to have been here for it. So thank you, August. Thank you for what happened, what didn’t, what changed, what stayed, and what I noticed. Most of all, thank you for the ordinary moments I was lucky enough to recognize while they were still happening.