“Look for the smallest of things,” I used to tell my daughter as we’d wander parks and wood. “Look for the littlest things – because then you’ll never miss the big ones.”
How true as we go through life, looking for those big wonders – and missing all the smaller pleasures of life . . .
a child’s smile. A clump of flowers growing as weeds in the crack between a building and sidewalk street. A tiny ant making his way though that forest of weeds. A gnat landing on a petal. The pollen tickling the gnat . . .
Look for the smallest things.
That way: you never miss the big ones.
I remember seeing a patch of dandelion growing around a sign post, stuck in a cobblestone street.
I wonder if anyone else noticed that thing; that clump of beauty amidst the rocks and stone.
I remember seeing the beauty of a child’s smile – looking at me. And more importantly: I remember seeing the beauty of that’s child love for ME! (and US!) – something which set us down a totally different road than the one we’d been on (while wondering: had it? Or had we been on that road all along – and this child’s smile and loving me simply a signpost along the way? Pointing, saying ‘free choice’ – choose – and taking a different road. Yes; I know that now.)
I remember being . . . trapped. Images come to mind (was I not paying any attention here?) – concrete confines; gray shadows rising into white, and below me . . .
ants playing, scurrying along their way.
And I watched them for hours.
The littlest things: sometimes that’s all you’ve got; the littlest things – all there is in the world around you – the little things – from the long sought after soft scent of some flowers wafting across your nose (in the stench of some city, choked and clogged with exhaust fumes) . . . a sparrow, darting along far above some highways; interstates . . .
I hate running over some butterflies. Others . . . don’t bother me so much.
I guess it depends upon how I’m looking at their beauty: whether they are simple lives – or something special – or just another bug on the road smacking into my own windshield . . .
People are often like that: those fragile butterflies fluttering around . . . aimlessly, like leaves in the breeze . . .
How many of them have you run over with your own ‘car’ of achievement and desire? I wonder sometimes . . .
The littlest things . . . can have an affect which last a lifetime – and beyond, I feel (and KNOW this thing!).
That hard word: I remember that one; setting me off on an entirely different journey; a totally different path . . .
That scorned glance: setting me off on another path; somewhere else entirely . . . (God! That one hurt so friggin’ much, my man!)
“Down,” she said, “go further down.” And I looked at this one I loved as I scrolled across the screen . . . tipping my head back and wishing . . . that I could kiss her, and she me . . . we were co-workers, in love; her married, me too . . . and we didn’t do anything . . .
But we both wanted to. I could feel it in my heart; knew it in her words. . .
Sometimes we turn down the littlest things, knowing that they can become bigger: fear lays in there – what will happen, what will I do . . . what can become of this . . .
and you lay your fear down, letting it turn into regret . . .
Love gone. Loves lost.
All over little things.
So teach your child well. Teach YOURSELF this thing: this “looking for the littlest thing”. You will find it serves you well; you will discover all the hidden joys in life . . .
that wisp of hair wafting into the breeze . . . off some child’s head; glowing in the sunlight . . .
The laughter of children in a far away park . . .
The glimmer of a star shining through the trees . . .
A beetle buzzing nearby . . .
A blade of grass, trembling in the wind . . .
The ant that walks upon it.
That’s me there; looking at you; looking back