I love the things we don't expect to find exactly where they are.
The surprise. The delight. To see the candle flickering from my hall windows in the cold and wintery night, alone. Offering us, inside, the unexpected extravagance of warmth and refraction. Tethered by the thin, red ribbon.
And, the unexpected fragrance from the lily I did not buy beckoning from the dining room table.
The flavor of the salmon and rice baked at Wendy's hand for my family's pleasure.
The kiss on my shoulder when I'm sleeping.
The repetition of Bach's, Sleeper's Wake floating over me from my little iPod.
The plate of an egg and avocado to be sure I have something in my tummy.
The ring of the phone as my friend Doug checks in on me.
Or that same ring as my mom's friend Karen, as she invites Mom out of her job as caring mom for a night of friendship and love.
The darkness of the rainy day.
The sadness over the calamity in Chile. I have walked on that ground and loved the place for its grandeur and simplicity.
The desire to write.
The desire to stop.
The desire for quiet and stillness.
All unexpected, simple and filled with quiet joy.
I love the things that come as unexpected offerings.