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Out of the Ordinary

I awaken into the new day.

Already my mind is considering all
that has been. Is contending with
all I might do or be needed to do.

Do I pause ... to ponder 
The ordered way land, sea and sky meet, as the
the sun peers through the trees
the clouds form and fold
the light sparkles on the lake
soft ripples hint of a soft breeze.

That my lungs fill with fresh air
perfectly composed to supply
blood, uniquely equipped to carry
cells, satisfied and content.

That my legs lift and support me,
step one foot to the other 
with balance on sturdy ground
that promises to carry me into the day.

Do I consider this ... the ordinary?
that the day will take shape
as it does and always has.
that intake of air 
will refresh again and again.
that gravity will have its way
as it has this day and every day.

This ordinary.
This gift.
This miracle.

Not guaranteed
Not promised
Not deserved

And yet, why?
why do I overlook it?
why do I suppose it?
why do I rush past it?
Why do I forget to give thanks?

In the anxious of always,
we've been given the ordinary
to make life out of.
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Beauty under the foliage

Some people are just showy. They strut their stuff and it’s good. No matter what they wear, it draws attention. And whatever they do, it’s news. They are the trend-setters. All eyes are on them. And they revel in the limelight. The good gaze of an adoring and appreciative audience.

My beautiful hydrangea is one of these. Watering can in hand, I marveled as I approached the plant to give it a drink. How glorious its blooms shone in the rise of the morning sun. The lavender luster of the largest stole the show.

As I drew closer, a smaller, pinker display invited me to look. Not yet fully bloomed, this pink one had potential. The water droplets on its delicate petals winked at me. Just wait, they seemed to say, we’re gonna be gorgeous.

As I drew nearer to give the stems a drink, I noticed a burgeoning floral bundle I had nearly missed. Its bushy lavender petals were mostly hidden from view by the lush greenery. Only when I pulled them aside could I appreciate its beauty. It wasn’t hiding; it was just happy to be beautiful under the foliage. Away from the bright sun. As if it had chosen not to compete with its showier siblings.

It was in full bloom. Stunning in its beauty, yet happy, right where it was. Doing its right thing.

Oh, to be satisfied with that.

Renewal

The whole world comes alive
when the sun rises.

One by one, two by two
they emerge
from east, from west, 
from every way and every other way,
whole flocks together
as if a heavenly call
has gone out and 
they're heeding its message.

Is it the rays, the light, the glimmer
that bids them come? 
the oranges, reds, the magenta
that dazzles and displays?
or something else I can't see, 
can't hear, can't comprehend?
Is there a knowing I don't know?
A joke I'm not in on?

Ashore, I stand
mired...heavy...earthen.
the only unflighted one of morning.
Astonished at their 
soaring, gliding, joyful shouting, 
"Here I am!" 
"Coming!" 
"Wait for me!"
Guzzling the good, good news of morning.

What a glorious day has come
and is coming
when we, 
weighted and terribly terrestrial 
loosen our ties and 
shed the lashing pinning our wings.  
 
And, with the rest, come
alive in the new day.
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