I am sitting by the lake on a beautiful autumn morning in Canberra. The day is hazy; the shore on the other side of the lake is indistinct. Swans glide lazy and imperious on the water. Ducks are curious, looking for bread.

I sit in my new car connected to the world via Facebook. I become aware that the connectedness of the internet means that I am in danger of being disconnected from the moment, disconnected from the beauty that is before me, all around me. In a surprising juxtaposition, one of those serendipitous things of life, a Facebook friend posted a clip of a 109 year old holocaust survivor and her outlook on life. “See the beauty everywhere,” were her words. So I shut down my iPhone and just sit, looking at the water.

The lake is particularly reflective – the hills and trees, memorial spire, buildings; all see their softer selves staring back at them in the lake’s mirror.

There is a depth to haze. It beckons me to look more closely, to peer and inquire – what is behind? There is also a softness; a fusing of the edges and boundaries so that trees run into hills and hills into the lake. Even the sharp shapes of the apartment blocks are somehow cushioned against the foreshore, blended to become one.

The sky is tones of grey and blue. Striated clouds hover behind the hills. The sun glows, spreading warmth everywhere.

The more I look, the more I am connected to the now, more aware of the minutes ticking by in silence.

I am not wasting time; I am just using it differently.

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