Ordinary Miracles
Afterward, we go home, our pockets stuffed with the ritual’s remains. Our minds don’t grasp the meanings; but somewhere in our hearts we know that it all mattered.
How comforting our front doors, welcoming us back to the familiar, to our countertops and chairs, to the smell of our own pillows.
We pour a bowl of cornflakes, as casually as kings, and stare out our windows at November’s ordinary miracles.
Our everyday routines wrap so easily around us that we don’t even know that we have changed, that we’re richer now.
But somewhere in our hearts we know, and that’s all that matters.
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