It’s the little things in life, really, that matter the most. And if that’s a cliché, then so be it. In the end, I mean, after all is said and done. The large home, the fame, the fancy car, the designer clothing--none of that matters. They’re not little enough.
A colorful sky comes closer to the “little things” because even though it’s vast, it’s fleeting. The ocean, too, can qualify since it cannot be quantified. The Earth, the forest, the deserts . . . all these things matter and come close to the “little things,” but they still aren’t quite little enough.
What is little enough to matter in the end? What might be the last thing we appreciate and say goodbye to with tears in our eyes and love in our hearts when we die? The first chirp of a tiny bird who senses dawn half an hour before it actually comes. A blade of grass. A momentary whiff of a lily or a rose when the plant is nowhere in sight. An azure dragonfly. A bird hovering far, far above. A tiny breeze against the back of your neck. The sound of a baby breathing. The scent of dew. The wail of a loon.
Tiny things, momentarily available, breathtakingly unique. In the end, those are all that matter.