what wonders

Hank started keeping track of wonders at the beginning of the month, sand dunes big enough to slide down and tiny snowflakes collected on black construction paper. A pickle jar cloud made of boiling water and hairspray, and a library book that no one else had ever checked out. I don't have my own January jar full of paper slip records, but I see the clementines in a bowl, the bulbs that began in November, blooming now. And I heard the version of He's Got the Whole World in (His) Hands that actually used all the pronouns. Wonders abound.

Darkness hugs the city on both sides of the day and I wonder when we might safely awaken from an era of hibernation. Still feeling mostly stuck inside a shrinking world, I don't want to misallocate my attention.

A brisk walk under eighty five layers and the bright sun, a shot of joy, when everything else is unraveling. The way the shadows fall and the smell of simmering cloves and cinnamon (mostly to mask the smell of all the wet socks, on its own a real wtf slash wonder). Seed catalogs and fresh broccoli soup on the stove, every small story of hope. Anything that pulls my awareness in the direction of gratitude, like waking up at all, another new day, a wonder.