Perceptive Prayer

The beauty of summer nights is how they go on— light lingering so long we can imagine ourselves immortal. For moments at a time.

And winter days— their own kind of beauty. Any swatch of color: hint of leaf bud, sway of dried brown grass, even litter— a bright yellow bag light enough for the breeze to lift and carry, can render itself as pleasure to an eye immersed in gray.

May we learn to love what is both ordinary and extra. May our attention be a kind of praise. A worship of the all there really is.