Susan Palmer's Exquisite Now

Sometimes a day’s task list gets a bit long and you find yourself emptying the compost at 9:30 p.m. or so. Get out the flashlight, grab the little metal bucket, go outside to the bin tucked along a path of overhanging bamboo. In the flashlight stream the bamboo leaves are so green, bright and sharp-shaped against the dark. Then you notice something fine. In the same way a shaft of sunlight captures suspended household dust motes, the flashlight is capturing water, not rain but fog, the tiniest of water droplets floating in the air.

Cranky self recedes. Childlike self emerges. Something slightly magical in the moment.