all the small things

It's funny how the little things sometimes hit you, always when you least expect it. Today I was feeling remotely studious (read: I have a take-home essay test for Money and Banking and my professor's book, yes as in he wrote it, and it is only available in the library, for an hour at a time, and you can't take it out of the library) so I headed over to the library. I was already annoyed that I had to trek up there in the first place, because I wish he'd just make more than 2 copies and let us remove them from the library. Then after I'd arrived, checked the book out, and chosen a table at which to study, I realized I'd forgotten my headphones. Urgh. It wouldn't be so bad except I prefer to study on the first or lower floor, because you have access to the circulation desk (that book's gotta be turned back in or re-signed out within one hour), the computer labs, and lots of clocks. Unfortunately, those floors allow you to talk freely. And while most people can keep it at a whisper, there are those that feel the need to speak at conversational level, and when there are groups of them it turns into a dull roar.

Have you ever tried to study amongst the cadence of people being taught derivatives and hangover remedies? Yeah, I'd much rather listen to my Avatar soundtrack.

So there I am trying to study the monetary system and I look up as a beautiful chain of snowflakes swirls past my window. It was literally a picture-perfect moment.
I can recall for you how small, how delicate they were, pristine, glistening with a golden glow because against all odds, the sun was out and here were some snow flurries. In that breathtaking instant, I was so happy that I could see just that one little thing. And then it was gone, tossed into the heavens to go who knows where, and then there were just regular old snowflakes to watch dancing down into the open, snow-covered lawn, before those too, faded so quickly I thought I may have imagined the whole flurry if it wasn't for new arrivals to the library shaking snowflakes from their hoods and scarves.

Moments like that make me long to remember the magic in the little things. It makes me long to see them through somebody else's eyes, like imagining my young cousin Drew coming to visit and seeing his very first live snowfall. Or even taking me back to this summer, when my soon-to-be-stepcousin Kyle saw his very first fireflies. I wish I could have witnessed this 17-year-old boy with a mason jar and holes drilled in the top chasing fireflies at dusk, like I so often did as a child. I remember JIF Peanut Butter jars with cut grass in the bottom, lighting up like the fourth of July when you finally got enough fireflies... Gosh, I can't even remember the last time I did that. Where does it all go? The joy for the simple things? We have to find it and relish each moment of it that we get, because I feel in that moment, we find peace, and hope, and love.

occasionally creative

I have books of poems lying around, some of which may never see the light of day. But there are some I actually enjoy, and when the mood strikes me I may share them. Now is one such moment, as I flipped open my journal to pen something and found this short piece.

Sunshine child with softest curls
Gurgling, she explores her world
Blue eyes that just take it in
Harmless as she gives a grin
Little fingers grasp and hold
Two of mine to take control
And then we walk across the floor
One step, two steps, always more
And who am I to deserve this?
Unwavering trust and a moment's bliss?
Strange to me, a stranger's touch
Could ever make me feel so much
The precious gift not mine to share
By looking into golden hair...