Monica: It happened this morning while I was in the shower. Michael came in to tell me that he had sad news. "I broke it," he said. I knew immediately what it was. I sighed. "It's okay, sweetheart. I knew this day would come sooner or later. Today was the day." And so it goes. My favorite mug that I've had for 19 years slipped out of Michael's hand as he was placing it on a shelf and came crashing down onto the counter. The top smashed into four perfect pieces. I felt no anger or disappointment or sense of irreparable loss; I have always known that someday I would lose this simple object that I've loved for years. Everything that comes into my life will eventually be gone from it, a fact that I have come to accept without attaching too much grief to it. The flip side of loss is that it creates a space for something new to enter. And although the object (or person, or place) may be physically gone, its essence lives on in my memory of it. I told Michael we will save the mug for a future building project, as we do with all broken bits of beauty.
Evelyn: The light changes so quickly in the winter. I took a few moments to get some sunshine (not another "smoke break") and was enthralled with the little berries this tree was flashing. I caught a glimpse of a wren jumping between branches, eying us carefully while stealing a few berries for a late afternoon snack. I couldn't quite catch him, but the berries struck a nice pose.
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