The little things that matter

Sometimes it’s the little things that matter

The sound of the leaf unfurling from the bud

Her ribs cracking as they straighten out and turn to face 

The new sun peeping out at dawn. 

The thoughts of the white speckled pigeon

Sitting on the ledge and pecking at her scales

Ruffling her wings to catch the lightest touch of the wind

The rhythm of soles 

Pattering on the walkway

Making a symphony of the weights they bear

The curling of the fingers

At the moment of ecstasy 

When nothing else matters

The slow and reluctant retreat of the night

Suddenly racing away as the shy sun picks up her courage. 

The mindless rise and crash

And rise again of the waves on the beach

And the little pebble brought to shore and taken back again and brought back again. 

The hungry bird pecking at the sacrifice left at the crossroads

For the gods who won’t eat. 

It’s the little things that matter

Little things are forgotten in their littleness

Overlooked in the chaos of living without the be-ing 

Until their absence signals our exit from the here and now.