This is the third week of summer vacation and my cup still feels utterly empty. Not a desperate emptiness, just a quiet lack of fullness, inspiration and nourishment. I find myself wanting to stare for long moments at the play of sunlight on a lilac leaf, or the cottonwood as it winds a feathery dance toward the grassy floor. My ears strain after bird calls trailing in flight and bathe in the gentle sound of rain fall on a tin roof. My arms savor the weight of my son's sleep weary body in a post-nap embrace. The taste of watermelon bursts its juicy, red sweetness over a thirsty tongue filling me with a fleeting rapture. I want to slow it down, to extend the simple moments of life so that I can breathe into them without rushing on. Perhaps this is all I ever need, to sink into the simple beauty that surrounds me and BREATHE.