"Some days I felt an urgent responsibility to each change of light outside the sunporch windows. Who would remember any of it, any of this our time, and the wind thrashing the buckeye limbs outside? Somebody had to do it, somebody had to hang on to the days with teeth and fists, or the whole show had been in vain."
—An American Childhood, Annie Dillard
Or you can let the days run through your fingers like sweet water, like golden coins, the currency of your time on this earth. It would seem miserly to hoard them, even if we could, when they are given to us so generously, again and again.
But remembering, yes. Let us remember. When I think of the thousands upon thousands of days I've been given, I feel grateful and almost a little ashamed. Grateful now for all the days I didn't have the grace to appreciate so much then, when I was so young and took for granted a lifetime of golden days in front of me.
That is a beautiful thing about gaining these years, I think. I begin to see the many, many gifts I've been given, and at last begin to fully recognize their preciousness. I am grown larger, so my gratitude can be larger, too.
And in recognizing the generosity extended to me, I am moved to offer gifts in reciprocity. To finally see the way of it...a circle.
The earth is so patient, waiting for us to recognize what's been here all along, if only we'd have the eyes (or the years) to see.
That's how it feels to me today.