It was early — just after sunrise. The kind of morning when the desert is still holding its breath, not yet scorched by the day. Soft light, long shadows, and the joyful trills of birds welcoming the morning.
The first to arrive was a desert cottontail. He came alone, unbothered, took a drink from the water dish like it was part of his morning routine. No rush, no fuss — just a moment of stillness before the heat settles in.
And then, shortly after, another visitor.
A young bobcat — lanky, slightly unsure of himself, but already carrying that wild grace desert predators wear like a birthright. Not a kitten, not yet a grown-up — just somewhere in that in-between space where everything is awkward and beautiful.
He didn’t stalk or prowl. No interest in hunting.
He came for water, took a sip, looked around, and laid down for a bit.
I stood behind the window, barely breathing. Watching him just be. Not performing. Not surviving. Just being alive in the desert morning.
And I thought — maybe that’s enough, sometimes.
Maybe life isn’t always about progress or purpose.
Maybe it’s just about showing up, finding some shade, and remembering you’re allowed to pause.
He stayed a while. Then rose, slow and silent, and walked away.
The sun climbed higher, and the day began.
💭 That’s my kitchen table rambling for today.
Maybe I’m overthinking it… or maybe — not.
Share your thoughts — let’s figure it out together.
EN 
RU