Ode to Everything
Somehow I have never thought to thank the ice cream cone for building a paradise in my mouth, and can you believe I have never thought to thank the purple trout lily for demonstrating its six-petaled dive or the yellow circle in a traffic light for illustrating patience. My bad. In my life, I have failed to praise the postman whose loyalty is epic, the laundress who treasures my skinny jeans and other garments, and the auto repairman who clangs a wrench inside my car tightening her own music. Were my name called and I were summoned on a brightly lit stage to accept a little statuette, after staring in utter disbelief, I would thank my dentist as well as my neighbor who sits vigil beside the dying far away from the lights, and my fourth grade teacher who brought down three-taped rulers on my hands as punishment for daydreaming out a window during an exam I already completed. Mea culpa. Now that I know the value of the peaks across from Flanders Hill, I will also perennially express reverence for their green crowns. I will never fail again to say small devotions for the scar on a friend’s face that lengthens when I walk into a room.