We are all living in a constant state of distraction, and I am no exception. Our yard is the closest we get to nature, but it's more than just a place for manual work on weekends. It can be our sanctuary.
From Distraction to Observation
For over a year now, I’ve been practicing staying present. Though the world is still loud… I catch myself drifting faster now.
So I would step into the backyard where there are no screens. No noise. Just opting into a different frequency of communication like enjoying the sound of water from the fountain. And sometimes the squirrels’ playful thumping along the fence. Moving like the trees were put there just for them.
Very often, especially on very warm days, bluejays and doves gather for a drink. They know where to find refreshment—our yard.
The stray cat in our neighborhood used to come by and simply rest—living rent-free under the lower boughs of the pine or snoozing atop the fence. I remember taking a photo of it once, capturing that still, quiet presence. But we don’t see it anymore. Its absence is a quiet reminder that these moments, and the creatures we share them with, are often seasonal.
Hummingbirds drift in sometimes, and it feels like watching tiny lives unfold—like kids on a stroll, or teens on an awkward first date. I’ve observed so many avian creatures now, and I was surprised to witness firsthand that 'bullies' exist even among our feathered friends. It’s quite a sight!
What if I tell you that we've seen squirrels playing games of tag with the birds across the grass?
This playful chasing was fun to watch. A whimsical reward that comes from simply being present in the quiet magic of the mundane. I would have missed it if my mind is too busy to notice.
This is why it’s in these unscripted interactions that make the 'slow living' practice so rewarding—you start to see the humor and the connection in every corner of the yard. I hope to see a squirrel being chased by the little robin.
One afternoon, I found a row of cigarette butts lined up along the retainer wall. Since no one in my family smokes, I assumed someone was playing a prank on us. Then one fine day came and my husband caught the real culprits: the birds were carrying them in their beaks and placing them there.
It would've been some "loud," man-made intrusion had we not been observant in silence.
It was a bizarre, firsthand lesson in the 'art of noticing'—seeing the truth of a moment rather than jumping to a distracted conclusion.
There’s a quiet kind of magic in these in-between moments. The gentle wind breezing through the trees.
I like this conscious descent into the environment that surrounds me. Spring has brought colors into this little sanctuary that even creatures call it theirs.
There is a profound difference between being distracted to that of being observant, and I'd like to think I've captured that transition beautifully.
It’s all happening right in front of us. We just have to give ourselves permission to look. The "magic" is always there…simply waiting for an audience.
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Many Blessings, Emilie
A Note from my Heart
I’m Emilie, a seeker of faith who finds God in the quiet pews and the divine surprises of everyday life. I write these reflections to invite you into a slower, more soulful way of seeing the world.