Little Old Man

Roseanne sent me a link to this poem by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer that resonated with me all day.  Rosemary wrote it after reading another poem by Ross Gay about a little old man who made a point to celebrate the beautiful day despite all the sadness in the world.  I recommend that you also read that poem called "Overheard" here.

Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

May there always be inside me
a little old man with scuffed up shoes,
a hobble in his step,
and hands upturned in wonder.
May he shuffle along
behind me wherever I am
and whisper in awe,
again and again,
“Isn’t it beautiful?”
And may he always
be telling the truth—
may he never be
a parrot for beauty,
but a real witness—
able to see
what I in my sad stupor cannot.
May he find glitter in frost,
the curl in the steam that rises from rot,
the deep rose in the sunset
on the day the boy was shot.
And let me not ignore him
especially when I want to.
Let me hear him and be moved
to open my hands in amazement, too.
And when my own thoughts
are too loud,
when I can’t hear
his quiet, urgent sincerity,
let him bump into me
as passes me by,
let him lead me with his wonder,
both of us limping
toward the light.

Maybe it's the "Little Old Man" inside me who reminds 

me to celebrate the glitter in the frost...

 and the deep rose in the sunset.