Nature doesn’t have a heart.
I’ve never been more cognisant of that notion than when I woke up this morning next to my wife, who lives with the unwelcome tenancy of dementia in her mind and body.
Christine was still sleeping, so I took the opportunity to enjoy the peace of a new morning in our new home.
I headed straight outside, partly because the inside still looks like a bomb hit it—which is admittedly preferable to the devastation of our recent raging inferno at this point.
After I captured a few photos of a glorious sunrise-using a lens that arrived as a gift a couple of days ago—I headed back inside to the “bomb site”.
And what a lovely sight.
Where only a few days ago there were bare floors and unadorned walls, there is now a tumult of furniture and clothing and all manner of things that we all use to navigate, express and celebrate life.
Once again I felt gratitude and the swelling of emotion that has now become part of our everyday life.
Because, while nature in all its beauty and majesty and terror cannot afford the luxury of a heart, thankfully we humans can.
I think that makes us all capable of wonders that are at least as beautiful as this morning’s sunrise—perhaps more so.
Thank you all,
Bill and Christine
