I work from a brown, wooden desk. On my left, a succulent plant with a name I can’t recall stands still as a scarecrow on a cornfield. A few paces to the right, and you’ll find a scented candle set apart by the lavender-colored coaster it rests on.
There’s not much to see here, really. A few pens and notebooks. It’s what you would imagine a desk to look like. But if you bring your eyes to the window a few feet above, you’ll get a clear picture of the sky.
From this window, I view the changing of light—the chiaroscuro of branching trees and lonely rooftops. When I crane my neck to break from the droning on of routine daily living, I find that there is an entire world around me.
I am here.
We are here.
I write to you with a request, that every now and then, you take time off from doing, working, writing, scrolling, playing, and simply be.
In those brief line breaks of life, I hope you feel the magnitude of your place in this universe.
