The trick therein is to name just one.
I subscribe to the motto “there are no small things,” because there are so many simple things that bring me great joy.
This very minute I’m looking out the big picture window we had installed when we first bought this home. No panes, though that was the style. I want my view of the mountains eastward (it’s a south window, but when I’m sitting parallel, my view is SE) unobstructed.
The evening light is perfect on the neighbor’s freshly leaved tulip tree. The sky behind is blue-grey with storminess. The juxtaposition of light and storm is one of my favorite things on the planet. At the moment the wind is calmed to gently flutter the leaves as if they were aspen.
An hour ago as I was driving home I looked towards Rock Canyon and was struck how the downward silver shine of virga was crosscut with nearly perpendicular rays of cloud-light. As I’m often wont to do, I took advantage of a moment waiting for oncoming traffic to try to capture it with my camera, which didn’t do it justice.
I was late coming home because I went to Spanish Fork to see a friend of mine from work who is recovering from a painful shoulder surgery after months of suffering after a fall. For the first time since her surgery, she was herself again. I drove away after our visit with a big grin on my face. Relief now I know she will be ok.
This afternoon I was delighted by the sight of an old plane tied down right outside the door to my office. I had to step over a tumbleweed–not as big as one I saw previously that was almost as tall as me–to get to the fence for a decent shot.
Earlier this morning as I walked past my sewing room window, I caught a glimpse of some visitors. I needed to get myself to work, but took a minute to grab my phone and go snap a photo. Which reminded me of how just last week there was not one, but two stories in the local news about first responders rescuing baby ducks. And how the other day traffic slowed to a crawl when careful motorists were looking out for a mother duck and her ducklings at the edge of the freeway. (Read that one more time–people who are used to going 80 mph on a freeway where the speed limit is 70 mph slowed down for baby ducks.) Which reminds me of a lovely story of a group of people in my neighborhood who once spend much of a day and went to great lengths to rescue baby ducks from a storm drain and safely return them to their mother.
At 4:25 this morning I awoke to the sound of rain. At first I couldn’t tell it was rain for the sound of the wind. I awoke from a sleep so deep that in my stupor I checked the weather report to see if it was raining (obviously I wouldn’t have needed to consult the current weather to identify actual weather had I been fully conscious). I got up to make sure the windows were flung open so I could cool my house and listen more fully to the staccato patter as it transitioned from furious to gentle, falling back to sleep under its lullaby.
Dusk has fallen. Thunder rumbles. It is trying to rain. My day has come full circle.
There are no small things.
[Day 114 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]