There are always special places in life. They are places where we can be. William Stafford called those places little rooms. Our little rooms provide views in the world revealing what and who is important. Time drifts and we reach out to what and who is important in life.
The little rooms are mindful places where life beckons coming alive in the each moment’s richness. We are more aware of each moment in encountering them fully.
I rock high in the oak–secure, big branches–
at home while darkness comes. It gets lonely up here
as lights needle forth below, through airy space.
Tinkling dish washing noises drift up, and a faint
smooth gush of air through leaves, cool evening
moving out over the earth. Our town leans farther
away, and I ride through the arch toward midnight,
holding on, listening, hearing deep roots grow.
There are rooms in a life, apart from others, rich
with whatever happens, a glimpse of moon, a breeze.
You who come years from now to this brief spell
of nothing that was mine: the open, slow passing
of time was a gift going by. I have put my hand out
on the mane of the wind, like this, to give it to you.
Teacher as Transformer 