eucharisteo: day 2. //

{the Indian Hills.}

I take this view for granted often. I wake up in the morning, yawning as I pass the French doors that look out to the south. I glance at the hills, at the green and the gold and the trees that stipple them, and I glance away. This is home, 12 years at the edge of civilization, 12 years looking out at crests of wheat & peas & ridges that stretch to the horizon. By now, this is commonplace.

And yet, it really isn't. And sometimes, my stupor of blind eyes & ungratefulness is interrupted. My eyes open, truly, and I see the glory. The stretches of hills that Lewis and Clark saw with virgin eyes two centuries ago, witnessing for the first time the terrain of the Nez Perce, rolling expanses unlike anything else they had ever seen. They came, saw, & marveled. And so I do, on occasion. I pass the French doors, do a double-take, snap a picture.

May my taking-for-granted cease, and true wonder at what my eyes behold take its place, filling me daily with the happiness that comes with looking at something unnecessarily, gratuitously beautiful.