For the fact that despite the imperfections, the messiness, the heartbreak, there is beauty here in this world. And love. And light. And always more to see, maybe, and always more to find.
For the feathers I keep finding, gathered off the floor on the final night of the musical and brought home as treasure. For the things that find their way in.
For full days. For moments within those full days when nothing exists except the sound of my own footsteps, the cold on my face, the thoughts in my head.
For the play between made and found, old and new, chance and plan. For how things bound to this earth—the things I can touch—release the things bound inside my head and heart. For what can be done (say, with the newsprint ads that show up, unbidden, at my front door every week.)
For the fact that at night often people gather together to sing and make music. For the image in my head of the satellite picture that could capture the glow of this in a dark world. For the chance to be in one of those glowing places tonight.
For interruptions. For the unexpected, the unplanned, the break in the pattern. For when your attention and intentions are netted and drawn: See this. What will you do with it?