No man can say his eyes have had enough of seeing. . .
— Ecclesiastes 1:8
Perhaps for you these meadows are like our mesas. Perhaps for you the awe I feel at all this green will become just another summer memory. Perhaps these sunny-faced daisies elegant Queen Anne’s lace willowy grasses are merely weeds waiting to be mowed. But to me they are green miracles of a liquid blessing floral apostles of Love. My friend the doctor on the Res sometimes feels his only purpose there is not healing but to fill plastic jugs with clear liquid from his bathroom tap for those to whom this necessity for living has become a luxury. I confess that sometimes our blood red mesas merely form the scenic backdrop to my life. I do feel wonder but of a muted kind not giddy with the joy I feel this morning in this meadow with these flowers and these birds this lush verdure all around me — The gleeful childlike joy of new. What if we remembered every day to learn to see with fresh eyes that which we come to take for granted To look with gratitude on that which we merely to expect to be? What if what we call common and mundane brought the same fascination as our very first snow-capped mountain cascading waterfall roadside deer and fawn red gold autumn hillside? Perhaps to learn to see anew really is that illusive elixir that turns back time to the fresh wonder of childhood the awe of first sight the curiosity of youth the joy we believe we have outgrown. This is my prayer. Every day to see my old familiar with the same brandnewness I feel amid all this utterly glorious green. To find joy in the blurred backdrop excitement in the same old scene wonder going round the block awe at the almost invisible. This is my prayer. To feel five year old new. The pure and simple delight in being alive. To live without ceasing the innocent amazement we were never meant to lose. This is my prayer. This meadow. This morning. This me.
— Victoria Price