the kinds of things that matter

eating lunch outside, for instance, instead of in my office staring at my computer.
because how else would i have learned that everything has a rhythm--the chatter of the Indian women laid over their sandals flapping cement; the tree flutter and pause; the cylinder of curry-scented air that pushed out of the Asian restaurant next door; the bike posse that rounded the corner like a veering flock of birds; the shouts of the bare-chested man who stole my bench and his rocking forward and back.