This Time of Year, I Sit Outside
and Just Listen

There's a window of time in May — maybe two or three weeks at most — where the air is exactly right. Not hot yet. Not cold anymore. Just this perfect in-between where you can sit outside in the evening and hear everything.

I do this every year and I never plan it. I'll be inside doing something, dishes or folding laundry or staring at my phone, and something will just pull me toward the door. And I'll step out and I'll just... stop. And listen.

The birds are always first. There's one that starts around dusk that I've never been able to identify, but I look for it every May like an old friend. Then the frogs somewhere nearby — I've never actually seen them but they show up the same time every year. The wind through whatever trees are close enough to hear. The neighbors a few streets over, a door closing, a dog. Distant thunder sometimes if we're lucky.

It is such a small thing. Sitting still. And also one of the hardest. I have to remind myself not to pull out my phone. Not to make a mental list. Not to start thinking about everything I didn't do today. Just to sit there and let the evening happen around me for a few minutes before I go back inside.

I've been thinking about why this matters so much to me and I think it's because it's one of the only moments in my day that is genuinely unproductive. There's nothing to show for it. No outcome. Just the sounds and the air and the fact that I was there for a minute, paying attention.

I think that's part of why I love real letters too. There's nothing efficient about writing a letter. Nothing fast about waiting for one. It's all just the slow, intentional part — the caring enough to sit down and put words on paper for someone specific. The trusting that it'll reach them eventually. The opening it slowly when it does.

If you're in a part of the world where the air has turned that perfect May kind of warm — I hope you find a few minutes to sit outside this week. Put your phone down. Just listen. Whatever is out there, it's worth hearing.

I'll be out there too.

— Kristin