Treasure

I pulled into the driveway and he darted across the yard, his sleek and narrow body bounding through patches of missing grass as though they were stepping stones. How he managed to hold onto it with only his tiny squirrel mouth I'll never know, but there it was, this one perfect tomato just at the peak of its ripeness. It was the color of fiery sunsets drawn by children, bright reds and oranges and yellows bursting with the idea that the sun won't go down without a fight. And the squirrel clung to it as though it were the sun itself, as though it were the something to thank for all of existence, as though it were precious and powerful and at the very center of everything. He ran toward me like a dog playing fetch, that look of discovery and pride on his tiny face, but at the last moment turned and scurried up the tree. I was glad of this. It was his treasure, not mine.

As I sit on the porch this morning, the air has already changed. Fall wafts in with it's familiar comforting scent. Leaves have already started to change color and float softly down upon the inviting earth. Yes, I think, a new beginning.

I wonder how many are allotted in life. How many times can we wipe our slates clean? How many chances do we get to be forgiven for our mistakes? How many opportunities are there to start fresh, to start over, to take those first steps? How many days can I dub as the first of the rest of my life before such a declaration becomes meaningless?

I thought about this last night as I lay in bed waiting for sleep to come. What I'd like to believe is that new beginnings are limitless. Every day can be the first day because every day is different, something new, something precious. Even in the most monotonous stages of a life there are details waiting to be discovered and admired and cherished. There are ways of seeing the world as an invitation for happiness if one knows how to look at it right. There are ways of learning this skill that are as simple as opening your eyes, as slowing down, as listening to a single bird greet you into your day, as I did this morning. Open your senses and the soul will follow. It knows how to blossom in gladness. It knows how to begin again.

Tuesday is the first day of my new job and I'm excited for something new, for another round of beginnings, for new people and ideas and realizations. I'm ready for change. In fact, I've been craving it. Something I've learned about myself is that as much as I think that I want free time, I'm not very good at it. I need to be busy. I need to be out in the bustling world exploring and watching and discovering. I need to be having adventures, even if they're as small as watching a child learn something new, or finding a new perfect place to sit and write in my journal, or coming across a garden so filled with color and life that for a brief moment I am left literally breathless. What I need, more than anything, is to be inspired.

And so I think of the squirrel and of his treasure. I think of the delicate, simple loveliness of that scene. I think about how being inspired is sometimes as easy as letting go, as letting it happen, as letting the beauty of the universe consume you. I think about how even now, in the quiet stillness of this Sunday morning, the beginning of a new week, I am filled with joy and gratitude simply to be a witness to the grace of this world.

And I think about how I must seem in this moment, bounding through patches of doubt and uncertainty as though they were stepping stones, clinging to the fiery treasure of knowing how to love my life.