These precious fleeting days.
Somehow the very small seems spectacular.
I hear the gurgling of water in the creek and an answer from pirouetting leaves as they touch the ground punctuated by little birds that rustle through the forage.
I find myself reminding those that miss the sun how rich the colours are without it.
And even imperfections are suddenly more beautiful.
Today a friend pointed to the crackled lacquer of the sky and we marvelled.
It's all marvelous, really. All of it.
Keep an open heart. It's the only way.
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