A Good Day at Work

I stood at my kitchen counter. It’s granite. I’d always wanted granite counter tops, finally have them. I had just boiled six eggs and began tapping one on the stone, tap, tap, tap. I looked out my window at the construction going on behind our house. I see a white utility truck, a pick up, with wires and tool boxes affixed to its bed. An electric company’s truck.

Six men walked down the newly constructed street toward the truck (one for each egg), safety vests, hard hats—a few white, others the bright orange like the vests, or neon yellow. Two men lagged behind, a playful jab, a friendly push. Boys. These two men still boys. They all gathered around the bed of the truck, an older one smiled and began talking, animated, hands waving, a story being told. He had the attention of the others, pulled the hood of his jacket up around his neck like a mask, acting out a part of the story. Smiles and laughs, heads shook and nodded. I finished peeling another egg, rinsed it in the pan of cold water before dropping it in the tupperware. Tap, tap tap, another egg cracks.

Our maple tree is beginning to bloom, the bottom branches already green, the upper branches stubbornly holding their buds. I looked at the tulips as I brought some mail out to the box this morning, pulling up the red flag and heading back to the house. Tulips are so temporary.

Blossoms swirled from the trees, looking otherworldly, looking like they never wanted to land, looking like snow. Microstorms beneath the boughs. A moment snatched from fleeting spring. It’s windy today, but I’ll still go for a walk. I’ll still get my air and sun.

When I get back to my desk to write, I feel like I am the captain of a ship, emerging, like the dawn, from the hull, my hair golden and glowing like the sun, walking slow motion toward the bow. The crew stops and turns toward the breaking day. Some mid-step as they carry barrels; mops and ropes are motionless.

The speed of the sailor’s day resumes when the sun breaks the horizon and all is golden, all are touched by the light. That’s what it feels like.

The deep breath, life from outside making its way inward. Exhale, making room for the new, the ever new.

I can only sit to write for a few minutes today. It’s a busy day, left brain patiently waiting her turn. Stay in the now, I whisper. Stay in the moment. Time enough for all the tasks, for all the work. Checks to write and mail, meals to plan, shopping to do. The windows need washing. It will all get done. This time is ours. This stillness, this breath. This now. And this one.

It feels sacred.

What if I were blind? What if I had to tap tap tap by feel only, my fingers as eyes, finding and peeling shell away egg? Would I not see the maple bloom, the tulips exhale, the blossoms fall?
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It’s a good day at work.