how to love the world

 

Is it the crunch of the dirt beneath my feet? The click of my neighbor's dog pacing on the pavement. Is it the branches bobbing up and down in the breeze, or an airplane passing overhead? A colorful book sits on the desk by me. When it gets warmer later, I will turn on the cooler and smell the mold from the pads blowing into the house. The smell of decay. Yes, even that.

The soft velvet of a skirt. The joy of taking off my bra. Touching a rough wooden fence, the pieces catching on my fingers, the years of that tree splintering under my skin. And going to a friend's funeral. Realizing you never knew her middle name. Wishing you had been a better friend. Yes, even that.

I know the feeling of coloring in a coloring book. Growing plants in the earth. Fitting my fingers into the spaces between someone else's fingers. Combing my hair. Smiling at a stranger. The sun on my skin. The joy of an answered prayer. The grief of a truth that hurts. Yes, even that.

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Photo by Dan DeAlmeida on Unsplash