My search for the Small Things has appeared often on this blog, but not quite so often of late. Busyness can drown even the most established thankfulness habit.
This weekend, though, I decided a resurrection was in order. My shoes were kicked off on Friday evening and I attempted to emerge from the workload I had been burying myself in. A glowing fire, a cooked meal, a favourite programme, a cuddly dog: the small things reappear when you slow down enough to see them.
Saturday. A brisk walk in the woods yielded an armful of fir and pine branches gathered from the forest floor: gifts sent tumbling from the heights, bundled up, their scent fresh and healing. Back at home, twinkling lights added to their magic. Ornaments were picked one by one and hung from the tree: jingling bells, pine cones picked up from a previous home and sprayed gold, a Russian doll brought back from my Grandparents’ holiday. Small things.
We went to the cinema, too. Sweet popcorn and a trip to another world and back.
Sunday morning, there was coffee, toast, a magazine. A few quiet hours of work, an hour with family, a meal out with friends. Good food and laughter.
Sometimes you have to wake up to the small things and when you do, you realise you’re waking up to life itself.
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