Too Much, Too Little

So orange, the zinnia burns the lens.

So misty, the water tower flattens.

Too much of one.

Too little of the other.

Surely the weeks of gray days must end.

It began

with butterflies. 

I had forgotten how beautiful they are, especially in late summer with zinnias in full bloom.

Today I remembered.

The Weight of a Small Thing

It's a small thing I do every day -- walk and look with my camera.  It's a small thing to write a blog post that would go unread were it not for a former student who religiously reads each post.  (Yes, you know who you are, W.)  It's a small thing to snap photos, throw most away, tinker with a few others, and upload one each day to a gallery. 

But there's nothing small about the effects. I see the world as if new every day.  I feel more fully myself in those moments when I walk and snap. I am more grateful than I have ever been for the small things -- legs that walk, eyes that see, ears that hear.  I have learned to love Sewanee for its smallness and the beings that live in it. 

I wear a kind of light weight now, like the bee burying its head in a zinnia: for a moment, it is mine -- all of it -- and then I fly away.