Now that the bloom is beginning to fade on this life in MO, and winter has greyed the landscape, I found myself on the farmroads drive in this morning reflecting on how to refresh the sense of wonder I’ve felt about this place. To not let the scenery become wallpaper; to keep the house, the drive and the Friday trip to my beloved river house from falling into sameness.

        The challenges aren’t big ones. And neither are the solutions. The answer, I think, is in the little things that gives me pleasure. The will to live with deliberateness. The tiny, momentary pleasures of the senses. Like the routine of making my morning capuccino and placing the sugar jar back in its place, just-so. Or the smell of the pantry. Or the fresh-wood smell of the garage. Or the lighting of a candle. Or the turning-down of the covers at night. Or the ability to find pleasure in putting a thing back where it belongs. Or even taking out the garbage.

     Simplicity. That’s where the joy is. Nice to have found it this morning. Nicer still to carry it always.