Big things on my mind. Big projects that have occupied me for years (almost a decade). Big projects unfolding. Trying to keep my head above water and not feel weighed down by my own big damn ideas. And for all that bigness in my life at times, without fail it is the exquisite beauty of small things that bring me back to my senses, reminding me that if every big thing I’ve created falls flat on its face, it will not change the magic of the pure connection I see in my puppy’s eyes, or the weight of my old dog’s head draped across my hip as we drift off to sleep in a room bathed in moonlight, or my husband’s comforting embrace.
On a hot humid day, trying to get dogs out to potty so I could return to my computer, I was mentally ticking off all that needed doing, a bit annoyed that the dogs were taking their sweet time exploring the yard and finding the perfect place to pee. With a sigh, I resigned myself to just taking some time to let things unfold on animal time. Slowly, it all sank in: the mild breeze, the color of the sunlight filtered through the old maple’s leaves, the unhurried sound of my dogs moving through the grass, the birds flitting here and there on birdy business. I felt the warm ramp under my bare feet, and glanced down to see this little bit of perfection peeking through the fence, a glorious gem that I’ve moved past thoughtlessly so many times in the past few days.
Setting all the big things aside, I stopped to just really look at the touch-me-not. An exquisite flower rivaling any orchid or exotic plant, the farm is now awash in these beauties, and so many others – the glorious goldrush of goldenrod offset by the New England asters that are abundant here.
Put down the big things. The world will keep turning. Rejoice in the small wonders that – despite their size – are miracles in their own right. Turns out they feed my soul far more than the big things. On my death bed, I won’t be asking for a review of the big things I’ve accomplished or built. Instead, I’ll climb into the astonishing beauty that literally everywhere around me, if only I can stop long enough to see.