Small Things


I’m a collector, really. I like to look around me and gather close the little moments. I find snippets of life and colour and hold them to my chest for all they are worth, and thank the Lord that there is still goodness in this world.

Things like the smile of my baby niece, and her laugh, and the way she chatters and shouts in her happy baby way.

Things like raindrops on daisies.

Things like dancing in the kitchen with my funny children.

Or an inconvenient hold-up turning into the luxury of an unexpected coffee break.

Or when my children throw the ball for the dog and he bounds into the long grass looking for it, tail wagging and ears flapping.

Or wild garlic in a rain-soaked wood.

Like when my 8 year old has a go at making up biscuit-related puns.

And apple crumble just out of the oven, with ice cream.

And the messages from friends asking how I am and how my children are and what my plans are.

Like a beautiful song and the sun setting outside my window.

And there will be more: moment upon moment of precious life. Every day, more of these beautiful small things to collect up and savour.

Yes, there are the hard things too, always, always. My heart is streaked with sadness, of course, of course, but the green growth of late spring invades it too and the freshness of spring rain washes through me, and the patchwork fields are sewn right into me. There are sharp fragments of loss in my soul, that is true, but there is also room inside me for the sight of an auburn kestrel, hovering, and for the sheer, free joy of my daughter running through rain and reaching for blossom.

When my heart hurts, I will look for the small things especially, and I will find them, moment by moment.

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