Little Things
It’s the little things in life that make me happy. That keep me going. The sunset. A waterfall. The sound of wind. The smell of air. The roll of clouds.
I don’t mean just glancing at the sunset and moving on. I mean pausing, standing barefoot on a gravel road, my feet burning slightly from the rocks poking my feet. I stand there, silent as I watch the sky shift from blues, to purples and pinks, to soft oranges and reds. I watch as the sun shifts closer to the horizon, sometimes clouds will be there making, sitting in front of the sun. Sometimes they’re thick enough that light doesn’t go all the way through them, and they become like floating mountains in the sky, outlined in color that takes my breath away. I stand there as the sun peaks through the thinner clouds, making visible, thick and thin rays of light cast down on the trees and buildings in their path. I watch the beauty and take a deep breath of sometimes frigid, sometimes warm, sometimes chilly air, and remember that the beauty will return tomorrow. A waterfall isn’t just a stream of water. It’s a cascade of a story, traveling miles upon miles, for you to catch a simple glimpse of a singular moment in that stream’s life. I may never see that singular drop of water ever again. It’s the sound of the rushing water that pierces my ears, and when I close my eyes I can imagine what it looks like without hearing it. The way it bounces off the rocks creates an echo that allows me to see it, just as the way the mist coats my skin and clothes like a soft, gentle, loving hug from nature herself. I breathe in the wet air and it slightly clogs my throat, but I’m rejuvenated all the same. Life is coating me, and I will remember the feeling until I feel it again, and it will call me back day after day. The sound of wind is a gentle whisper that ruffles my hair like an older brother or pushes me to the ground like an older sister. It loves me, but shows me who is boss as it makes my teeth chatter in the cold, reminding me that there is heat to be found, warmth compared to the coldness it treats me with, or it’ll be my saving grace on a day of sweltering heat, where it blows across my flushed and sweaty skin, cooling me down at least a little. The sound is a whistle against my skin, a whisper in my ear, and a tickle on my nose. It wraps my hair around me as I spin in a circle around it, my arms out to the side. The smell of air is unlike any other. The tinge of a fire from a campsite on the backroads; the crispness of rain just hours before it pours. The smell of air makes me stop and close my eyes. I breathe in deeply through my nose and heavily out my mouth as my muscles relax. The smell of air reminds me that life is all around me, moving and pushing and breathing as I should as well. The smell of air warns me of dangers on the road, be it rain or snow, and it makes me giddy with excitement as I exit my car, hearing the chatter of family at a picnic I’m a bit late arriving to. The roll of clouds has me looking up to the sky, watching in dizzy amazement as I watch them fly by. It watch the thunderheads as they roll, black in color and foreboding to the untrained eye. But to me, it is a symbol that nothing bad lasts forever, and there is always sunshine to follow a dangerous situation. The roll of the clouds above my head makes me lock my knees and become dizzy just moments later, or I’ll lie down in the grass, seeds and burs sticking to my clothing and skin as I watch the sky. So here I stand, on my hilltop home. I watch as the sky shifts from blue to purple and pink, soft rays of the colors peaking through the thinner clouds whilst the thicker ones create another mountain range, adding to the ones that already take my breath away. I close my eyes and think of the water fall just thirty miles and an forty minute hike away, exhausting me to my core but invigorating my spirit. I open my eyes as I feel the soft breeze rustle my shirt and my hair, a short choppy sound hitting my ears as it makes my short frizzy strands stick to my eyelashes. I take a deep breath as I smell the fire from my neighbor’s campfire, hearing the giggles of her children, and then picking up the smell of the burgers and dogs my father is grilling. I look to the sky, a soft smile stretching across my features as I watch the blue-tinted purple and pink sky disappear behind fast moving clouds. The action pulls my head back too far, and I get dizzy, but the feeling of my cat against my legs has me look down again. I bend, pick him up, and head to get my burger.
I do not need some bigger motive to keep going. When nature hugs me as it does, I will always, always, keep my nose above the water. Even when the rest of me is sinking.
