The immeasurable measurabilty of the immeasurable

First entry of this « new » month, which follows what seemed like the endless month of March. From here, I have no view of that long-ago beginning.
Yet month to month, moment to moment, « life » is undivided, neither fast or slow or endless. Lunch in the sun on a café terrace in the boulevard Montparnasse had it’s « length » in the measure of the hours today, sure. But how to measure the angle of my husband’s head bent over the menu, the waiter’s laugh, my son’s fork, welcome sips of icy San Pellegrino, the tang of salmon tartare and its pink design with leafy salad shades of green and purple, a crust of bread, a crumb, a grain of salt, a dash of black pepper freshly ground?
And at the same time… O world! A slice of lemon at my table is included with bombs and rebels and protests, basketball games and car races, movie reviews, shopping lists and stock charts, friends expecting babies, the tan cat in the verdant garden, leaks of radiation into the sea. Waves wash up here. The shore is at my feet.
One thing I can say, my hard-won « knowledge » from the infinite joys and despairs of ongoing experience: I can only encounter the immeasurable in the measurable.