a toilet and some raccoons
Back in December I painted our bathroom and while it was in disarray it felt like a good time to also try to fix the half-broken flusher apparatus on the toilet that didn’t flush quite how it was meant to. I did fix it. Now, it flushes with ease.
It’s not my greatest accomplishment, but every time I press the handle, as the tank empties and then fills with finesse, I am flooded with pride. It’s the little things.
Doesn’t it tend to be the smallest things that delight us the most? Not exclusively. Just the most.
Like on Saturday when I led a winter walk at Wells Reserve. The earth was covered with snow and coated in a layer of ice so that every branch shimmered and each stalk of grass bent under the weight of the freeze. Some of the stalks of grass had melted free on one side leaving hollow husks of ice parallel to the blades, making for them translucent shadows. The way the earth was covered with clinking clanking shimmering prisms was a grand delight made up of tiny delights, but that’s not what I was thinking of just now when I said that the smallest things tend to delight us the most. I was thinking of the raccoon tracks in the snow.
Side by side, two sets of tracks ambled down the same path ahead of us where we were placing our fresh footprints in the snow. Two raccoons had walked down a path maneuvering from one spot to another, a mundane act for woodland creatures, and the sign of it brought nine humans to their knees in wonder.
Today may your day, in some way, be wild with delight.