The smaller joys in life – a prose poem

Sometimes we forget about the little things: walking barefoot in dewy grass, sitting in that last patch of afternoon sunshine.

Silly things, like the taste of cinnamon on a bun straight from the oven, or the warmth of sticky little fingers grabbing on to yours.

Wonderful things, like skinny-dipping in the early dawn, or standing in the darkest hours of the night, watching the stars light up the sky.

Sometimes, we are too focused on tomorrow – or the day after.
We write “To Do” lists and plan events.

We forget today. We forget that life is a gift and that the tomorrows will only become precious if they become todays – or even better, yesterdays.

I remember lying in the grass as a child and staring up throug the rustling leaves of the huge birch towards the sky. The world quivered beneath me, and I was submerged in the utter joy of simply being.

I don’t do that very often these days. In fact, I don’t do it at all. I have forgotten how to.

Sometimes we forget about the little things: the pungent smell of a newly mown grass. The way your hair tickles your neck in a gust of wind.

Silly things, like drinking water from the outdoor tap and ending up all wet. Or crouching down to study a butterfly.

Wonderful things, like the glitter of a smile in your significant other’s eyes, or the heavy heads of glorious lupins in full bloom.

Sometimes, we forget about today. We forget about the little things. Sometimes, we are really, really stupid.