A rainy night and I find myself reminiscing. One of the things I appreciate about this time of the year is precisely the way it makes me stop and just be. It’s hard to concentrate when the sun is shining, the garden is bursting with color, the birds are singing love songs, and the moon hangs so low in the sky one can almost reach out and touch it. But, on a night like this the heart can fold itself, rest in a cozy nook, and dream at leisure of past days and those to come.
They say that the first five years in a person’s life are the most important, and while I am certainly no expert in the matter, I humbly disagree. Every single day is important, they are the pages of our own Book of Life. We may not notice, we may dash about in a frenzy trying to get things done, we may fall into bed numb and unable to utter a word, but our brain, our mind and soul will have stored everything: the color of a leaf, the sound of footsteps on the pavement, muffled conversations, a tune, a certain face, a glimmering moonlight. Then those memories will come, they will surface unannounced, sometimes in quilted fragments, sometimes as a whole, and they will arouse glee or sorrow, relief or regret. Every day is important along with the rituals they hold: making the bed, watering a plant, brushing our child’s hair, choosing what to wear, stopping for bread. How lucky to be able to do all that! How lucky to have a home to come to at the end of the day and be greeted by a smile, how lucky to prepare a meal, sit on a comfy chair, enjoy a cup of tea.
I am listening to the rain falling softly, mixed with tiny, glittering bits of ice and I am tempted to make a list of things I'd like to do. For example, learn to ride a bicycle (a subject better left for another post) join a gardening club, and so much more, but for now I believe I will just sit here, focus on all I have, and be thankful.
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