Could Two Inflatable Swans Have the Power to Still the Mind?

Vinyl swans glide in the author’s pool. Photo by author.

The Florida sun poured through the guest room windows, which had an ideal view of a courtyard and pool. My desk had been strategically placed in front of its window.

I liked writing my stories by a window, which included long pauses and gazing outside. Until an inspired sentence dropped in, and then it was tap, tap, tap on the laptop.

When writing my first book in Pennsylvania, I observed the stillness of the yard across the street. The scenery appeared motionless, painted in place, yet my attention allowed me to observe slight movement.

What was that?

Strained eyes caught the stealthy slink of a cat.

My husband and I had moved to a quaint Florida beach town about seven months ago, after building our house mainly during the height of the pandemic. The house-build journey had been twisty, but the outcome had led me to my new window-writing view of a Spanish-style courtyard and swimming pool, floating within the pool, two swans.

No, not real swans.

Two inflatable white swans that turned colors at night from the day's sun. The swans had been a neighbor’s housewarming gift. My neighbor had arrived and tossed the swans in the air. Both landed with a splash in the pool.

The swans mesmerized me, consuming me more than any new writing being accomplished. The swans had trumped the cat.

On this particular day, the beachy breeze sailed the swans in the pool and swayed the hammock between two young palm trees. The swans stuck in one of the pool's corners when the air stilled. But with gusts of wind, one spun, the other glided, and the science of the moves made me wonder. Yet, as if the swans remembered my audience, they became like synchronized swimmers.

On another gust of wind, the swans half-spun and faced each other, with vinyl beaks and curved necks creating that heart shape. The swans parted to opposite sides, but not for long, finding their way back to each other. Natural science and the energy of the universe played this game.

"Did you put one of the swans on the front porch," my husband asked me the night before.

"No, I didn't," I had responded.

He was perplexed.

I wasn't.

Heavy rains had fallen that day, enough to cause minor flooding of the usual roadways and streams of puddles in the courtyard. The pool water levels were high, and the wind gusts were strong. Our front doors that connected to the courtyard had been open. Presumably, the wind propelled one swan onto the front porch.

(Okay, did you imagine the swan flying? It's not possible; the wings are painted.)

But, I couldn't help joking with my husband, "The swan must have been upset finding itself outside of the courtyard. He was probably glad to have been found and put back."

I am entertained by nature's wind and water inter-play with the swans while three overseeing wind chimes act as a noisy instrumental ensemble.

Nature’s dance fired my imagination, quieted my mind, and stoked playful thoughts to spring forward.

The gusts picked up as if to punctuate this sentiment, and the swans bobbed around like bumper cars. (Had I seen a side hip bump too?)

So, did the swans have the power to still the mind?

I've witnessed others captivated by the swans, too.

"Have you given them names?" I have been asked on two separate occasions. Both times, I looked at the swans and thought, There's no way to tell them apart.

Swans aside, everyone has a moment when they are stilled by something that captures their heart or imagination.

That power of connection resides within each of us.

Being in nature, playing, laughing, and engaging in physical activity we love are all gateways. But we can also sneak in some of this good-feeling, centering stuff in challenging situations by pausing and taking a deep breath.

Recently, in Mexico, to see the total eclipse, the beach was full of excited tourists for the forthcoming event. The day was gloriously warm, and the sun was out with a few clouds. This event promised to be great. Then, nearby, a man spoke unkindly to his adult daughter about something she hadn't done right.

I am not minimizing how personal circumstances feel. Yet, I couldn't help feeling momentarily annoyed by being pulled out of my revelry. I wondered if he could only notice what was happening around him instead.

Allowing space for awareness to enter has its rewards.

Several weeks earlier, getting out of my car at a retail shopping center, I heard a bird sing unusually loud and clear above the din of cars and shoppers. Scanning around, I finally observed the noisy bird atop one of the shops.

I wasn't the only one who spotted the chirping bird. A boy, about five years old, in a group with his family, noticed. He kept pulling on his mom and pointing to the sky, attempting to get her to see the bird, too. But she looked preoccupied. She entered the store with the family, not once looking down to see what the boy wanted to show her.

I am glad the little boy saw the bird, though. I suspect he’ll continue to notice.

Conclusion:

How can we cultivate awareness?

Life in the present moment takes practice because our hurried minds don't allow this luxury.

Take a couple of deep breaths to quiet the mind, then look around and notice the environment with the five senses. What do you see, smell, hear, taste, and touch? Practice this when you move to a new location, such as entering your car or walking into your home.

For me, the swans are still there for my writing. I'm gearing up for swan backflips when my next book comes out.