Koladera rhythm model (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Well, as a Catholic, you can probably guess where this is going. But you’d be wrong, though that was pretty tempting. But I had, really, no idea what I’d talk about for five minutes. Le sigh…
Our lives are filled with every kind of rhythm, and once you become attuned to it, there’s no going back. From the undercurrent of our body’s autonomic functions like breathing and heartbeat, to the surrounding beat of footsteps, car horns, and bird songs, the effect is a bit chaotic, but none the less rhythmic.
I’m hearing the wavering melody of a finch’s persistent song punctuated by the low drone of a mourning dove. The occasional cry of a Phoebe and sharp jabs of a Robin complete the avian quartet.
That’s just what I can identify without thinking too hard.
Stop for a while today, and listen. Whether it’s the rising and falling cadence of a down-the-hall boardroom meeting, the quirky chatter of a bevy of toddlers, or even the soothing whirr of your dishwasher, there’s a rhythm there.
Go on, feel the beat.
*****
What’s Five Minute Friday?
A blog-prompt project dreamt up by LisaJo Baker, which you can read about here. The basic idea is that you spend five minutes of writing, generally unedited (I correct typos, WAY too OCD not to do that), on a prompt that she provides just after midnight via a tweet, then spread the word, and link up. Interested? Join up. Enjoy a delightful assortment by clicking on the picture to the right.
Today’s Five Minute Friday selection is also here!
After the Ecstasy, the Laundry . . . 
Ahhh. . . yes. Life is it’s own rhythm whether it feels rhythmic or not. I love this. Sounds we get used to – those that interrupt our normal ebb and flow. All a part of the rhythm of life. Thanks for sharing! Here from FMF.
My post: http://maryhess.com/five-minute-friday-rhythm/
I love this – it invites us to slow down for a moment and actually be fully present… it’s when we lean it to listen, that we truly hear!
Such good writing! I enjoyed stopping by with FMF…on Monday! Blessings to you!
“Please, don’t stop,” he begged. She found the rhythm again, the flow of the left hand, the accents of the right, playing it perfectly–for him. He stroked her arm, his touch as gentle as the breeze blowing the trees outside the window. Her eyes closed tighter now as the sonata reached its pinnacle of sadness and loss.