|Acorns Joey gathered on a recent nature walk.|
The smooth, brown sheen of acorns glistens underfoot as much as those nuts crunch with each step. My four-year-old delights in gathering acorns in their great variety: some as colossal as a baby's tender foot, some dappled more yellow than Autumn's hue, some capped for an outing; others sleekly shaven, others blacker than India ink, others as petite as a newborn's smallest nail. Joey bags them for further study at home, Ezra decapitates the ones still headed, Daddy minds them not until he steps on one, but Mommy rubs a thumb across the silken skin and admires the beauty that spirals from possibility.
Friend, we all feel the singularity that life brings to each one of us. On a crowded subway car, bumping close to other travelers, we are as alone as the monk nestled in a crag on Meteora's lofty stones. It is easy to feel isolated, uncared for, forgotten. As time whirls by, we're left so caught up in our own place that we often forget that the faces we see have names, stories, worth.
|A single, meadow-rooted tree, captured as the car quickens by, holds beauty.|