A Moment at the Line

There was a morning not long ago when I was hanging clothes on the line — nothing special, nothing ceremonial. Just the soft weight of damp fabric, the sun warming my shoulders, the quiet rhythm of peg, lift, hang.

And then something shifted.

For a breath or two, everything went still inside me.
Not empty — just clear.
The kind of clarity that doesn’t arrive with answers, but with presence.

No striving.
No self‑analysis.
No internal commentary.
Just the simple truth of being here, in this body, in this moment, with the breeze moving through the cotton and the light catching on the edges of things.

It wasn’t a breakthrough.
It wasn’t an awakening.
It was a remembering.

A remembering of the self that exists beneath the noise — the one that doesn’t need to be improved or justified or explained. The one that’s always been here, steady and quiet, waiting for the layers to loosen enough to be felt again.

The moment didn’t last long.
But it didn’t need to.

Sometimes presence arrives in the smallest, most ordinary places.
And sometimes those are the moments that recalibrate everything.

Love to All,

Kel 🙏💜🌈