Time and Place

What sort of journey had this feather been on before I encountered it, held our puppy Gracie back as she tried to grab it, and took this photo at 11:21 a.m. CST on Thursday, August 13, 2026? We were on a stretch of trail we travel regularly and which treats us to many sightings and surprises. What sort of bird, what circumstances? I only saw one feather, not a pile. A hopeful sign for the well-being of this feather’s owner.

Time and place. A midday feather sighting.

How often do we end up in the right place at the right time? Plenty! How often do the wrong places and wrong times end up teaching us a lot? Plenty! Right time, wrong place, wrong time, right place, who knows? What I do know is if I am tuned in and present, something meaningful, beautiful, or both is revealed.

Living gratefully can happen anytime and anywhere. Leaning into what life offers is more than an obligatory thanks, or a repayment of some sort of debt or favor. It is embracing being alive, even when things are not going swimmingly. Or when it is just a typical and mundane day. Time and place. A cup of morning coffee. A walk with Gracie. A moment of gratitude as I watch a stunning evening sunset with my elderly friend. Nothing mundane about any of that. Awe awaits us when we are fully present.

I date every poem I write, returning me to a specific memory, to a time and place. It can bring nostalgia and wonder at the fleeting passage of years. The richness of a life being lived with a healthier perspective than the one I was born with and the one that drank alcohol excessively for ten years. One such poem has shown up in previous blog posts, but here is the story:

It was March 2, 2010. I was at Maplewood Cancer Center waiting for my appointment. I was on 3-month check-ups after my breast cancer diagnosis, chemo, and three surgeries by the end of 2008. Talk about time and place. I would walk in and see people in the waiting room far more sick than I looked or felt. I would wonder which ones might be gone by my next appointment. Gone-gone. That grateful presence I was seeking would land differently in the midst of the sick and dying. Cancer has a way of clarifying many things. Here I am, eighteen years out from my diagnosis, over sixteen years since I wrote this poem. It really is about just breathing, here and now.

I was as much unwinding from a busy work day as I was feeling the stress and strain within the walls of a cancer center, but here’s what came out . . .

Just Breathe

My enemy brain invades the tranquility I worked hard to attain.

Taut nerves cry out for deliverance, for a break at least.

My tense body tries to dispel the stress it feels building.

I need oxygen . . . Pause. Breathe. Just breathe.

©Lisa Valentine

Listen to me read the poem here. (An impromptu moment with recovery friends in 2019.)

Time and place. It matters. Notice. Just breathe. Onward!