The longer I sat there, the more I discovered that just the breeze could bring me into the right here and now. I pressed the warm mug against my collarbone, and stared at the mountains, which were grey-blue in the distance. The wind whipped and bent. The aspen and birch leaves, now more yellow than green, shimmied and shook. After I looked long enough, I began to connect sound with space. I could see which mosquito circled where, which gust hit which leaves, which branches creaked with which breeze. Soon, I could see it, right there in my front-yard: the world alive with so much dance.