Sometimes, it is a good thing for me to consider small and ordinary wonders.  Many times, a long stroll around the rabbit patch has made a world of difference in the day-and since these occasions have added up to many miles of wandering-it has made a difference in my life.

I  have often taken the first steps of  my meandering  in a state of deep thought about some uncertainty that has shown up. Cash and Christopher Robin always go with me and seem so solemn, as if they need to  bear their part of whatever the burden is we are carrying. What a sorry sight we must look to the rabbit patch community!

Eventually, we will disturb a family of sparrows. They will quarrel with us in a loud round of chatter and break our contemplating. I will watch them and count them out of habit. I wonder where they live in the rabbit patch. They are cute little birds and so common that most people do not appreciate them-but at that moment I do. I am even glad for them. They do “sparrow work” as they were born to do and show no signs of discontent that they were not born as robins or cardinals.

Wisteria and jasmine boldly claim parts of the rabbit patch this time of the year-so do violets. They seem to love the shady areas. Their leaves are heart-shaped and seem to say ” I love you”. They are like little spring valentines from the earth-and I love them too. For a few months they will carpet the edge of the young woods and feed the population of this springs’ bunnies. I notice them with fondness.

If I see a dandelion, I make a wish-just for good measure-and because a part of me believes that dandelion dust may have some magic in it. Christopher Robin is quite intrigued with this habit and tries to catch the floating hope in the  dandelion dust-but he never does. My boxer, Cash, is not amused by such nonsense. He has gotten proud because the sun is setting. He is a guard dog, after all and he immediately starts “putting on airs” about his position.

On the way back to “Sweet Home” it is not uncommon for me to pick up sticks and branches so they won’t hinder my mowing. Sometimes I find a small and smooth stone. I hold it and notice how cool it feels. I wonder how old it is-and which little boy has carried it in his pocket at some time. Surely the stone has an ancient story. Somehow I feel courage just by holding this piece of time in my hand. It is not understandable to me-but it is true.

By the time we walk in the back door of the farmhouse, it is time to turn on the lights. It is a late supper for the animals and they are both ill-mannered for a few minutes as I get their supper for them.  Later they will lay together on their blanket. I will remember the violets  the sparrows and the dandelion dust-and the little smooth stone, while they begin dreaming.  It will seem that these small wonders were the reason for the stroll . Everything I needed was found in them-“look up! , I love you and  have hope, for I am strong and constant.”-and I like that.