More and more frequently, I find myself sidetracked by little wonders in places that I had never really explored. They are hidden down overgrown trails, under rocks, behind branches, in the shadowy corners of evening, and in the rippling frontier of ocean. The more I look, of course, the more I see.
And others too, I see them searching for magic in the places we once passed off as commonplace or unexciting or vacant of any of that flash and sparkle we associate with more exotic, far-off lands.
Now we're eking out the time to think how absolutely incredible it is to hold a delicate shell that rode the roughness of the ocean all the way to shore. To inspect the wonder of a finely constructed seedpod: sculptural, alien, and designed to do exactly what it needs to do, perfectly. To watch my dog consider something she cannot fathom: curious and confused, then accepting and content. To glimpse something rare and store that memory, like a smooth riverworn stone, away in your pocket to revisit and relive for years to come. To lie in the grass in the sun, breathing wisteria scented salt air. To be struck by the audacity of a bright bold wildflower, one you’ve only ever seen in books and florists and manicured gardens, growing casually against that dry washed-out bushland, made all the more striking for its completely accidental display. To think of all the billions of butterfly wings, the skeleton leaves, granite boulders, flower petals, rain, heaving seas, semi-precious stones and the curve of bone.
To seek wonder anywhere it might possibly be found.