How is it the way has become so obfuscated? Or has it?
I know a tree still appears to me to be a miracle although plentiful and more so when rain drips from it, especially when I'm underneath and it feels like a clogged shower that I want to reach up and throttle it for more. But nature is slow, fanciful, deliberate. The way love is in all its personifications. Why should that seem so idealistic?
Where does the notion come from to pull your car over to help a turtle cross a road? Or to imagine the clouds as someone. The world is a manifestation of wonder. It comes with God's Imprimatur as authentic as coddling a baby or stroking a pet. Like some electrical grid, we store-up power from even the most inconsequential acts of civility. And therefore are charged to make better ambassadors of ourselves. So each person being a foreign country, we make every attempt to normalize a relationship. Our toolbox is full. But some things require bigger wrenches, communal torque, unconditional love. It is being accomplished in the most sweetest of miracles. Our part is always left to us. For within the fleeting, ephemeral flux of flesh and bone we can mount no more a defense for our inaction than could we live another chance.