|(flowers near my grandparent's headstones)|
I stumbled upon this small poem the other day, and haven't been able to get it out of my head. It sums everything up so well, really.
We live a small life in a small apartment. We have small means. It's a quiet life full of common worries, fears, hopes, desires, and circumstances. There are highs and lows. There is nothing very remarkable or newsworthy most of the time.
But it's lovely to think that we can- that we do- have a symphony.
“To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages, with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely,
await occasions, hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual unbidden and unconscious
grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.”