A meditation of sorts.

I step outside and see the sky - its vibrant blue, the stacks upon stacks of white clouds - and the sky and its clouds belong to me.

I take a breath and feel it in my lungs. All of this air belongs to me.

Where the trees bend and leaves applaud the day, the curves of branches and the enthusiastic, shimmering leaves - it all belongs to me.

I gift polite greetings to the cashier; he gifts them back to me. They rest in my ear. These words belong to me.

This afternoon I will head home and my children will not show me the pockets of their days. They have existed in a space without me for most of it, and that empty space we share, somehow, belongs to me.

It is my space to fill with sure feet, steady legs, wondering eyes, grateful hearts. So the spaces without are not truly without. So that I guide them so steadily that they no longer know I am there. But in spaces of breath, blue skies and clouds, the ovation of leaves and interactions with strangers, they will see beauty. And hopefully feel me there with them.