JUDY EMERSON Author and Personal Coach

I’m addicted to distraction.
I scroll on my little screen, dull and petulant
as if the oxygen God invented on my behalf
is not sustaining my lungs
pumping life to every cell every minute.
As if the sun has not just risen in all its glory to warm creation
and light my way.
I fuss about boredom
aching bones
or the darkness of society.
I moan my deprivation
and
ignore the gift in every puff of breeze,
how the scents of orange peel and of roses differ
from honeysuckle and rosemary.
I never notice the lovingness of suffering human souls still whispering thank you
or how this troubled democracy still provides
free libraries
fire departments
and public parks
for the good of all.
God knows about my mindless eating, Netflix and chill, hours in my soft chair.
God knows about my choice for stillness and stagnation over moving this miraculous body,
and waits for me to notice the balm for my soul on offer.
If I pay attention
I say thank you
for cotton and the ingenuity that first made clothes from it.
for shoes molded to my feet differently for right and left
for the genius of electric lights and air conditioning
and resources to pay for them.
Thank you for Bach and Billie Eilish,
for ears to hear the magic that is music,
and the sigh of an old dog settling.
For eyes to see snowy mountain vistas
desert plains
the downy cheek of a sleeping child
and the face of someone I love.
You give me the world, while I frown at the little screen in my hand.