A few days ago, I came across the lovely book, Tiny, Perfect Things, a children's picture book about a walk a young girl took with her grandfather and his repeated question, "What perfect thing do you see?" And so, on this seemingly unremarkable, cold December morning, as I walked to feed a friend's cat, I asked myself the same question. In no particular order, here are some of my discoveries.
A burst of ash seeds whirling and helicoptering softly to earth, as if they had all decided to launch themselves from their tree at the same time.
Morning light on grassy hummocks, frost illuminating every blade.
A bluebird pair sitting on and then flying from a mounted nest box, the male, as Thoreau wrote, "carrying the sky on his back."
Fuzzy, white hoarfrost perfectly and daintily outlining the edges of fallen oak leaves.
Mistletoe growing in one of the bare deciduous trees, a ball of green against all the browns and greys overhead.
Sunlight on tiny ice crystals, glistening like fool's gold in the roadbed.
Soft rustlings everywhere, movement of white-throats, squirrels and deer through the dry leaves.
Perky, intrepid little Carolina wrens foraging and hopping about from log to log, wholly unaware of the joy their simple existence brings me.
Red on green of the hollies, nature's Christmas colors.
A colony of inch-high, dried fruiting bodies on the patch of moss at the base of beech tree, bright copper against the green.
Thick, needled foliage of red cedar and pines, abundance of color, and invitation to winter food and shelter for the non-humans among us.
Blanket of fallen leaves beneath the trees, the earth's winter comforter.
On this, seemingly unremarkable winter's day, what perfect things are you seeing?