It rained lightly for most of the day today, the kind of rain that doesn’t necessarily fill the puddle but changes the rhythm of everything around it. There weren’t many neighbors stopping by where I could see them. The geese weren’t wandering through the yard, Stella and Stanley weren’t standing along the shoreline, and even Pinecone seemed to have found somewhere dry to spend the afternoon. But that doesn’t mean the puddle was empty.
Floating slowly down the water was a long branch, stripped of much of its bark and looking suspiciously like it had been worked on by our local Puddle Dinosaur. Chuck may not have stopped by where I could watch him, but apparently he had been busy somewhere nearby. There it was, drifting past like a little calling card: evidence that he had been here.
I am learning there are all kinds of ways the neighbors leave evidence of their presence. A feather in the grass tells me the geese spent time in the yard. A suet feeder mysteriously opened or a chunk missing from a suet log usually tells me exactly what Pinecone has been doing. Sometimes I find tracks near the water, hear a splash I can’t explain, or notice something has moved since the last time I looked.
Not every visit needs to happen while I am watching. I think that may be one of the things I love most about the puddle, the life here continues whether I am paying attention or not. I get to witness pieces of it, but I am never the reason it is happening.
Days like today also make me especially grateful that we decided to put an awning over most of the paver patio. It seemed like such a practical decision when we were planning the space, but it has given me something I didn’t fully anticipate. Rainy days don’t automatically mean going inside anymore.
I can sit beneath the awning while the rain falls around me, listen to it hitting the roof, and watch the surface of the puddle respond one tiny circle at a time. I can notice the branch floating past and wonder where Chuck found it, what he was doing with it, and how far it traveled before it reached me. The rain doesn’t interrupt my time at the puddle; it simply gives me a different puddle to notice.
Maybe that is part of learning to pay attention. Presence isn’t always something we get to witness directly. Sometimes we know someone has passed through our lives because of what they leave behind; a feather, a branch, a memory, a changed place, or something we notice that wasn’t there before.
Today, our Puddle Dinosaur didn’t need to make an appearance. He left a branch floating down the puddle instead. And beneath the awning on a quiet rainy afternoon, that was enough to remind me that even when I can’t see them, my neighbors are still here.
Waypoint | Presence
Sometimes presence is something we see. Sometimes it is something we discover afterward.
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