beginnings and stream-side thoughts

I like to begin projects auspiciously, with profound thoughts and grand promises.
There is nothing special about this day; it's an early Monday morning and I should be asleep. I would like to have some profound thoughts to share but my sleep-deprived brain is reluctant to function at such a demanding pace. I would also like to makes some blindly hopeful promises but the best I can do is that I hope to write every day. And therein lies my project's purpose - to write, to hopefully improve, to mentally engage with the passing days of my life.


I also would like to have some flow, to ease gradually into the sharing of my scattered thoughts, but once again I am veering from my preferred course of action - without any sort of introduction, without any connection, and without frills, I shall begin writing.

A few days ago I sat by my stream filled with a strange happiness, a happiness that is often overlooked in it's subtlety, but is full to the brim of stunning poignancy. Found in the ordinary stuff of life, it's beauty at it's simplest...
It's tiny white butterflies,
Storm clouds and roses,
It's the trills of a songbird's music,
A baby's soft-curled fist, furled in sleep-brought surrender,
It's downy ducklings and dappled sunlight,
It's water's cool kiss on baby toes,
A daddy and his daughter,
It's warm earth and long shadows,
It's the wind through a poplar's leaves,
It's the heavy sweetness of a Russian Olive,
It's the leering laughter of a duck disturbed,
It's sun-warmed pavement under summer-calloused feet,
It's grass-stained knees and dirt-smudged hands,

It's everyday bliss.