Walking barefoot over some distance is like discovering a sense long forgotten, a source of awareness both delicate and harsh. Earth, stone, pine needles, sand, grass, gravel, mud: I am flooded by texture, softness, pressure, pinpoints of pain, the disturbance and the comfort of it all. It’s the ordinary moments you miss most, I am told by those who are grieving. For years I was pulled away, scattered, diffused. There was something I was searching for that I couldn’t find, something always outside my grasp, something that I might have imagined was better than my life as it was. I’m not searching any more. I keep my eyes open for the ordinary. My heart navigates the world as if barefoot. Everything is louder than it once was, and I am more tender. It keeps me present, slow, cautious, treading gently, testing the ground with each step before committing my weight.
From 100 Words: The Beauty of Brevity. Word prompt: present.