Frank Wilson considers the quieter moments:
[O]ften, in the morning, while I’m waiting for the coffee to brew, I’ll stare blankly out my kitchen window and, in a bit, I’ll be aware of the sparrows chirping, and the wind chimes, the flowers, the light, while I myself seem to have been reduced to just a point around which all these other things are happening. It is as if I had dissolved into a state or process of awareness. And yet, at such times, I feel intensely alive. Or maybe it is simply that life at such times seems more intensely real. Either way, my ordinary everyday me seems absent.
The Dish 