Every day

Sometimes she played this game:

She tried to see how many different ways she could see the same thing every day and still love it all over again each time. For she believed that it was the infinite variety of a thing–a person, an object–contained within its constancy that gave it a richness and beauty worth savoring.

She felt this way about a handful of things: The light. Water. Trees. Her children. A few select friends.

She tried to feel it about herself too. But that was more difficult. That was a game she had to keep playing again and again with patient endurance.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.