Oftentimes I don’t know what to say about the world I find myself in. On the one hand each day flows into the next as regular as tides. On the other hand everything, at its most basic and elemental, is so unnervingly surreal in a way that’s difficult to articulate. The texture of a hand towel, the way traffic lights are designed, a baby emerging bloody and perfect from a womb, the smell of an old book: the experience of life caught up in a hundred small artifacts and events. A person can go their entire right portion of moments without perceiving the singularity of each one. There is some blessing in this. After all, it would be difficult to live aquiver at every sight. But to live entirely oblivious to wonder is to not live at all.
Everything precious is fleeting because of its impermanence. To perceive beauty is a death of sorts, in that beauty is a denomination of time. Your daughter’s hair bounces in the late evening sunlight as she runs, and a clock clockhand moves. Breath is caught and released. You live a lifetime within that closed loop; life in a moment.