Kissing the fallen crumbs…

Somedays I just want to sweep all of the crumbs from the ground, the table cloth, the rug. But other days I don't care. The world can be so big, and yet so small. The same sun rises and falls for each creature. Sometimes, I fear the darkness and want to shrivel up and hide. The evil of darkness. The paradox of good and evil. I think of the icons - gods and demons- yet we seek both fire and life to mend the chill of the dark, to erase the cold and dank.

And, I am hopeful as I look out the big window and contemplate the wonder that each new day holds. Praying to the morning sky. No dawn it is ever the same. The colors are tremendously different shades and hues as I glance beyond the tree line into the valley. And I fear not. In this filtered early light, I see the fallen crumbs. The remnants of meals around the table, of ashes around the fire where we rested into the dark and cold. The crumbs of celebration at the distance we have come and the pieces of wood charred – now charcoal turning the dark outline of worry to a sketch of what is possible.

I hang on as I lift each crumb, each piece of life – the basil in the planters remind me of our hands in the dirt on a spring day. The cards on the piano – a reminder of friends and loved ones far and near. The bird seed scattered on the deck – remnants of life that gathers at the feeders. Blessed, holy crumbs. The fodder of the ordinary – right here, right now, in this moment. So much to hold and behold, so blessed by the abundance of crumbs. I don’t want to sweep them up to quickly today. I want to savor each stain, each mess, each day and the moments they hold. Joy and pain, love and life, all blessings – all beautiful crumbs.

Inspired by: An Almanac for the Soul – An Anthology of Hope – by Marv and Nancy Hiles, January 16 “Sunday Afternoons in Winter” in Selected Writings of Juan Ramon Jimenez translated by H.R. Hays.