When he talked about details—flowers, fences, individual buildings, the poetry hidden in the names of towns—Lillia felt her heart swelling with the awkward adoration for it all. p 118
I’m not a glass half full or empty kind of person
When I look I see it both ways at once.
I can’t choose a favorite cereal
’cause I think it tastes better
when there are two flavors in one bowl.
I don’t have a favorite season or a favorite color.
The one I’m in or the one I’m wearing
is the absolute best one there is
until the next one comes along.
If I had to pick a book title
to describe me
it would surely be
“Both Ways is the Only Way I Want It”
I’ve been accused of being too sensitive
too emotional, too immersed, too involved.
I don’t know any other way to be.
When I look outside,
it’s not the forest I see,
but the plants, the leaves
the rabbits, and deer who live there.
Maybe it’s the glasses.
Perhaps there was a mix-up
at the eye doctors and
I’ve been given
a variation of rose
that gives me special x-ray vision.
I see a street sign and I wonder
who gave it that name.
Was it a family?
What were they like?
Was this a name that had great meaning for them?
Someday I’d like to write a book
about the naming of streets.
I’d like to think it would
be interesting enough
to draw a readership.
I can’t help the way
the most unassuming sight
will bring me to tears.
There is so much beauty,
often where we
don’t expect to find it:
the curve of a cabbage leaf,
the brilliance of a purple plum,
and the safety of an unembellished umbrella.
I catch a glimpse of the
spectacular and try to
capture it with my camera,
to preserve that sighting with
letters and words
and the spaces between them.
I put it here for you.
To read, to remember,
to inspire and console.
So that your own heart
can swell with awkward adoration.
Help you to notice the world
around you and your place in it.
I put it here for all these reasons,
but, really, I put it here for you.