Celebration of Simplicity

Written this morning to a friend – on another rain day – while countless thousands of drops fell and puddled over breakfast.

There is something about the rain that makes it easy to prattle to you, something about the steady, falling drips that lead me to stillness and contemplation – a pause from a quiet breakfast of coffee, grapefruit, and toast with cream cheese.

They are simple things – these splats on windows and milk in coffee and sweet, pink sections on a shiny teaspoon – but I realize more and more and more and MORE that they are what life is about. So small, so inexpensive, so unimportant; yet they mean everything to me, are so big, are so rich, are so significant.

Simplicity is key in living a happy life, I’m sure of it. It is beautiful and efficient and challenging and delightful, but so hard to accomplish. And there are a great many glittering distractions, and time-wasters, and hole-fillers that still leave you empty.

I hope that if – on a fantastical, wild off-chance – I come into extravagant hordes of money, I will give much of it away, save some of it, and spend the rest on the dear, simple things that are solid, timeless, and that burrow deep: guitar melodies, matches for campfires, knitted sweaters, ripe avocados for guacamole to feed friends below high rooftops, gas for trips to mountains and lakes, and – one day – a stretch of openness to put a house and make a home, small in size but huge in heart.

I love each of you and I’ll love you always.

Ever all of yours,
Coon

(Photos from the last couple weeks of vast and intimate gatherings, riddled with change).

 

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