Morning light. Frost. Fairy lights. The color green. Ewan MacGregor in blue jeans.
We were talking last night about how so many people of many faiths are convinced that since they’re not long for this world, that they fixate on the next. That this life is simply something to manage, to bear, to struggle underneath the weight of. I’ll admit that these are sometimes my late-night thoughts as well.
But if it were so terrible here on Earth, why is it that my son’s hair is the perfect shade of wheat, and when the sunlight shines on it he looks like he should levitate? Why do we feel the way we do when we’re with someone that makes us sigh, why do our bodies fill with concentrated heat, then relax into a sort of breathless nothing? Is all of this beauty in vain? Those aren’t my beliefs at all.