thought.

Dear great big world,

yes you, with all your scary diagnosis’, with all of your big open skies and your options to leap into them. You, with your dirty dishes and laundry and “if there were enough time in a day you know I could have made it -s”. You, with your patchwork parties, you freshly baked brownies, and your airplanes skipping to countries where people are… other people, who haven’t names… or even faces, not to me, because I can’t see them. You, with your fifties style dresses, long strings of pearls (which I haven’t quite decided are real), with your gogo boots, and your skinny jeans. You. You with the centuries and centuries of people… other people, and them with their histories — all so different — all somehow painful — all strictly beautiful in their own context, and sometimes in mine too. You with your drying white roses and your bottle of red wine, which would still have been good if its owner hadn’t opened it months ago and left it there — oxidized — hating the fact that it only ever made it to one single glass and now a countertop where it has been forgotten in the mix of so many baked goods. Yes you — great big wide open frightfully beautiful world…

how is it that I am to deal with you? In all of your gluttonous splendor and demise? With all of your death and agony, and all of your artsy girls in pretty dresses who take pictures of things and then make something creative. Or with all of your stressed out mothers, who struggle so hard over who their kids will grow to be — then they forget that they, too, are still growing, and need some attention. With all of your political points of view, which, even when on the same side — argue and argue to no avail? How am I meant to cope with all of the frizzy haired businessmen who stumble into my coffee shop at 6am looking dazed and forgotten saying “at least it’s Tuesday” even though its Wednesday, and really, even if it were Friday it would mean nothing more than an extra hour of sleep.

Do I dare love the morning fog as I walk my puppy through the still damp grass? “I’ve never met such a morning person, you’re so happy” my customers tell me as they rush in and out of my tiny corner of your vast lands… but I really used to despise mornings, until I breathed them in and realized that you — oh massive ball of mud, sand, and water, are good in the morning — just as late at night.

I love breathing in the music of this vast masterpiece.. though it struggles in resistance when it remembers that it is fallen. You, world, with your pianos, and words, and engagements… anniversaries, puppies, with your eyes which meet mine through so many different channels… souls of people connecting in bright colors in just a smile. We cope with you by smiling at each other. You with all of your people… people I will never know, and still, by solid ground and by a common love from our maker — People I am connected to.

Fight your deepening battle, you self-distructive world, surely greater than this one small girl — I will fight mine quietly, in love with the good which remains… believing always that good must prevail… or it would not exist at all.

sparrow

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