There are still things inside the world to bring astonishment.
The first sip from a cup of coffee in the morning, while you watch the dayglow filter through the window.
The way that someone asks how are you and they really mean it.
The eggs that I collect, each morning, from my chickens. The weight of them inside my hands all their shapes and colors.
My sister’s face, and her laughter, the way she has decorated her bedroom with the blue walls and the album covers.
The bare branches that are, one morning, suddenly full of flowers. Small pink round faces, like a cotton candy tree.
What love looks like. The shape of an eyebrow, the gold fleck in his eye.
The light inside my bedroom at 3 PM each afternoon.
The way the lilies open in the vase inside the kitchen.
A mallard duck in our front yard.
A cold beer on a hot day. That first sip, the way the amber color glints inside the glass.
The last line of a great book
Or a good song played at the right time.
The smell of a burger, with grilled onions, wafting through a parking lot.
Locking eyes with a stranger on the street. Passing them by, and recognizing that the world is filled with people you will never know.
The shape of my dog’s face. Her eyes and how she watches me. Climbs beneath the covers how she twitches in her sleep.
A pot pie baking in the oven
Or perfect harmonies.
The way the rain rushes down that one spot on the roof. How we leave the slider open, just to listen to it lull us into sleep.
When a baby rests its head against your chest.
My garden, how the plants seem to grow inches overnight. In the morning, it looks like somewhere else entirely.
The smell of an old bookstore
Or fits of laughter so great that you cannot breathe.
Remember, there are still things inside the world to bring astonishment.