Do not let awe be stripped from you by age, nor by anything that crosses you, in all your days
Make friends again with birds—how they rise on a wing of wind
Stop, take them in, and hear their songs
Take nothing for granted, nor let any miracle pass as passé
Let nothing slip away

Pause to watch a squirrel bound across the yard
Close one eye to measure a cloud’s drift against a branch
Or if it stands pendant, unmoving in a windless morning, receive it as a message

On a walk, notice if the trees around you sway, if there is wind
And either way, take the beauty in

In the season of bare branches, notice the potentiality of trees and leaves
And the humility of the naked

When you drive your car—even to the store—let the store be the marvel it is, and think of hands that jarred and tinned provision, for bodies dependent on something outside them, as all things are
And on your return, wonder what a Roman would think to see you in such a chariot as yours

When you see a plane streaking overhead, shake your head and think of the lives that make their way—longing, as sure as you do—to find new places and to see mysteries unfurling like the next pane of a tapestry

At night, name the phases of the moon
And when you step into a forest, ask for the wisdom of a tree by placing your palm upon its bark
Let this be a secret—do it unseen, as if it’s sharing with you great things
For so it is, and the tree will

Let none of these gifts be unreceived by you—these gifts mis-labelled ordinary
Befriend them and find yourself befriended

Let nothing become common, since nothing is

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