This was supposed to be a blog post about how to recognize your own creative prowess. And then I took a walk in the (light) snow, and everything changed.
I confess, I was walking in the snow to get to the little podunk corner Kosher bakery in our neighborhood for a Friday morning treat.
Although I’m only part Jewish, turns out a hefty piece of fresh-baked Kosher raspberry crumb cake CAN be a religious experience. But that’s neither here nor there; the point is, I was walking in the snow.
It was blustery: the cold wind burning my cheeks, a not-so-soft-guarded coat collar scraping my chin, precipitation blowing into my eyes, my nose running, and my hands too cold to even activate the touch screen on my iPhone. But I didn’t care one wit. I was too arrested by the way the slight dusting of snow was turning everything ordinary into extra-ordinary, more of its own self.
Instead of feeling the wind, I saw the shapes of the bare trees:
and the geometric juxtaposition of pipes and fences:
and the flaming contrast of the deep red twig Dogwood against the other muted winter colors:
and the snow-specked black dog racing in exuberant circles (even ON leash!) in the park, because “he’s so happy about the snow!” his owner delightedly explained (sorry, no photo… I was too taken up in the moment to reach for my camera)
and the random mosaic on an otherwise nondescript wall, reminding me of the splash of beauty my mosaically-inclined nieceling adds to my life:
which led me to posting about that on her Facebook wall
which led me to an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the gift of all of my niecelings, nephewlings, and now my great nephewling
which led me to posting such on my own Facebook wall
which led to a small lovefest of words from various folks
and suddenly nothing matters except the delicious profundity of the extra-ordinary moments of my day.
May you be likewise blessed on this extra-ordinary day.
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