those divine moments

I woke up the other morning feeling sad, something I try to avoid because it takes me down a rabbit hole, but for some reason I couldn't shake it, I couldn't rid myself of the feeling that I love this world, and I will miss everything in it. The breeze blows through my open windows and I watch the trees ruffling and bending, the maples and the sumac, and I watch the birds, the Blue Jays and the chickadees, flying around unaware of their own mortality, perhaps, not caring whether or not they will be here tomorrow. I love them for their absolute mindfulness and I wish I could be that way, but as it's turning out, I look to the future at tomorrow and it's bleak. And I love this world. And I will miss it.

I will miss eating tacos and feeling the sun on my face and hearing the neighbors' lawnmower and listening to my dog sneeze and I will miss that feeling of sitting on my bed after a long day and knowing that I can go to sleep in my bed and that my blankets are warm and that I am comforted by them. Most of all, I will miss the laughter and chatter of my children, will miss my son coming home from work and calling out, "Hello!" in the way that he does, and will miss the sound of my daughter playing guitar and singing in her room.

When did these things become important? When did I really notice them? Did I not notice them before? They've always been right under my nose but I never looked at them properly. I never really saw them or was profoundly unaware of their intrinsic beauty, and now that I am, it's too late. Too late for me but maybe not for you. Look at the things around you. Really look. Look at the beautiful faces. Ask yourself if you need anything, or if it's important to you - or if it's important, at all. Relish the moments, as I do now. Realize that your world is beautiful. It is. Those divine moments, every day, every second.