The air is alive with sound and movement this morning. A bit more humidity arrived overnight and there is a feeling of heaviness that has not been around the last few days.

I sit listening to the conversations going on up high in the trees. How I wish I spoke “bird” so I could understand what the chirps and squawks mean.

There must be half a dozen blue jays hopping around on the ground nearby. Perhaps they are discussing what is available for breakfast. Tiny brown birds sing down from the low branches. Maybe they are asking the blue jays what they discovered.

Although the pansies in the big pot are in the final days of their lives, they shine bright purple and yellow as the sun begins to touch their faces. And the fading jasmine blooms on the trellis at the back window still fill the yard with sweet perfume.

All along the rails of the deck, lizards scurry back and forth, changing from brown to green as they move through the tangle of vines growing between the slates. Occasionally, a cat spots one of them and a chase begins — the lizard usually wins out.

Glancing towards the woods at the edge of the yard, something catches my eye. The first hummer of the season is here and I watch it hover under the umbrella that stretches over the table. The little hummingbird’s wings move so quickly they seem to disappear. It hangs in one spot magically suspended in the air.

Everywhere I turn there is life. Birds fly from tree to tree, a fish splashes in the lake, my old mama bulldog scratches her back in leaves beside the deck. A soft breeze moves through bringing a moment of relief from the morning heat.

As I sit taking it all in, I watch life unfolding around me. How nice to enjoy a minute of solitude. How calming to be still and to feel the morning moving slowly toward midday.

You can’t purchase moments like this. There is no price tag on peace, no way to buy serenity. Nope, mornings like this are a gift of grace that come to you free and clear.

A bee swoops in from the yard and pauses its flight right in front of me. For a few heartbeats, we are face-to-face. I look into its eyes and it seems to stare back into mine.

“Good day, bee,” I say.

It goes into a little reverse action and pauses again. We continue to stare.

“Namaste, friend,” I whisper.

It flies in a bit closer getting one final look at this strange human creature making talking sounds in its direction. Then in a flash, it zips across the deck and vanishes.

I think about that word I whispered to my bee visitor. “Namaste” It’s what we say at the close of every yoga class.

Loosely translated it means, “The divine in me recognizes and honors the divine in you.” Or, as I explain it to the kids in my after-school yoga classes, “the light in my heart sees the light in your heart…”

This morning deserves a giant namaste because everywhere I turn I see the divine shining back at me. It is there in the birds’ songs, in the movements of the lizards and in the beating wings of the bee.

And it’s here in the breath moving in and out of my lungs as I take in the perfume from the jasmine vines and gardenia bushes. That divine spark is even here in the heaviness of the humidity.

Yes, the air is alive this morning with sound and movement offering a prayer to the creator, a joyous song and dance in recognition the gift of life. I close my eyes and offer my own words of gratitude for this breath I‘m taking and for the miracle of my life on this spring morning.