Yellow Daisies and Snackwell's Cookies

I’ve lately been attempting to rekindle the wonderment of childhood by shifting the way I walk about the world. So much, I realize, has been lost to the doldrums of routine; so little have I taken the time to appreciate what it means to be alive.

As a child, it seemed everything brimmed with wonder. I recall an afternoon spent at the park with my mother when I was perhaps three or four, and still riding in a stroller. I remember the essence of this day as if it embedded itself into the core of my DNA. I remember big, white clouds that traveled across the sky like ships atop the sea. Yellow daisies and green grass danced with the summer breeze, and my mother and I sat on a park bench eating Snackwell’s cookies. Perhaps we were there for an hour or less, yet, here I am, still thinking about it all these years later.

At what point do we forget to notice the miracle of the mundane? I confess this as my own admission, knowing that nothing in itself is mundane, only that I’ve made it so through a skewed hierarchy of values.

What it means to have so many childhood memories that revolve around the senses! Much of youth’s glory lies in that each new experience contains something novel to be discovered. As children, our antennae are always searching.

A return thankfully seems possible. I’ve been searching for two weeks and already I’ve found wonder in a chocolate croissant at the cafe down the street. I’ve found it in the trees along the new route I’m walking Cowboy on and I’ve found it in the different conversations I’ve been having with strangers on the street.

I’ve found it by focusing less on the doldrums and more on yellow daisies. And you know what? Lately, I’ve been feeling much better.