A moment.

It rained tonight, a steady, quiet kind of rain. I was playing games with a friend in a coffee shop, rainbow umbrella dripping on the seat of the booth next to me as we talked over the strategy of our moves and joked with each other about how awful we were both doing. He took quick bites of salmon salad between moves and I would turn and look at the metal tree sculpture on the wall beside us when he dithered over moves. After, I shouldered my backpack and walked out into the twilight - it was that perfect moment when it's still light enough to not be night, but it clearly isn't day anymore. The rain had stopped. The air smelled like the storm, and the ground smelled damp, and the grass was twinkling a little in the light from the streetlights. And as I walked along the sidewalk, the fireflies started glimmering in the dusk all around me, little streaks of light. One sat on my shoulder for a moment and then blinked off, away on buggy business. I walked around the block twice, past my car, back again past the coffee shop (the barista waved at me through the window as she closed up), just to enjoy it all.

I wish, sometimes, that I could capture moments, distill them down to their essence, and share them with other people across the miles. The quality of the light, the little black glowing bugs doing their twilight dance, the blue paint on the little free library in the yard I parked in front of, the runner completely soaked by the rainstorm who grinned as he jogged past me, the smell of the rain and the squeak of my sandals on the sidewalk and the cool breeze. All of it. Every bit. I want to just pour it into a cup and save it for a moment when someone needs it - maybe me, but more likely someone else - and then pull it out at need. Here. Here's this moment. Apply as needed.

And maybe that's why I write. Or at least, why I write little things like this, and share it here. Next best thing to experiential distillation, I suppose.

It's a beautiful night. I hope it's treating all of you kindly.