Yellow Daisies and Snackwell's Cookies
A search for the lost child.
Lately, I’ve been attempting to rekindle the wonderment of childhood by shifting the way in which 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, 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 vividly. How it felt then—and how it makes me feel now. I remember big, white clouds that traveled across the sky like ships atop the sea. Yellow daisies and tall grass danced with the summer breeze, and my mother and I sat on a park bench and ate Snackwell’s cookies. Perhaps we were there for an hour or less. Yet, here I am, still thinking about it over twenty years later.
At what point do we forget to notice the miracle of the mundane? I say 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.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it means to have so many childhood memories that revolve around the senses. Much of youth’s beauty lies in each experience containing something new to be found. Our antennae are always searching.
But the news I’ve found is good. The wonderment of childhood is never lost, only forgotten.
I’ve been searching for two weeks and already I’ve found it 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. I’ve found it in the different conversations I’ve been having with new people.
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.
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