hearing the whir of the refrigerator behind me, an ice cube drops every now and then. a pet tag clinking against a water dish. windchimes singing outside the back door. the ever-present buzzzz that we're normally too busy to hear. seeing a dog peek at me every now and then wondering when i'm going to go upstairs to bed. toys and tiny remains of leaves scattered across the floor. glowing yellow light bulbs. yoga books and notes and drawings spread out around me.
tasting ice cold water in a plastic cup because glass glasses hurt my hands. the need for a good teeth brushing. the sweetness of being the last one up.
smelling the last of the garden produce in pretty bowls on the table. tomatoes. green peppers. eggplant. lots of eggplant. the faint smell of baby powder. dirty dog.
feeling the uncaring lettered squares under my fingers. a warm laptop balancing on my crossed shins. knee high socks itching just a little. an ill-advised attempt at bangs falling down into my eye. a middle back ache from holding a little red-headed munchkin.
knowing what contentment feels like in this moment.