It isn’t what I thought.

Not money

Or respect

Or being successful

Whatever that looks like

On a particular Monday.

It isn’t being purposeful.

Achieving

Pushing forwards

In my truest nature

For my highest self.

It is enjoying the gift

Of breath

Walking familiar paths

Enjoying the subtle changes

Of the seasons

Marvelling at the pheasant

Who visits unexpectedly

In his golden coat,

green, iridescent hood shimmering.

It is time with soul friends

Family.

Remembering the small gifts

Of normal.

Making the most of

The time that is here

Today.