The Journey Inward

all the luck and little things,
nothing as rich as magic beans,
noted in the moment, but then let go,
nothing remains to even show.
why dismiss them all so quick?
why not pause and let them stick?
for the big things always get the stage,
the joy, the sadness and the rage,
but when only glancing as they arose, 
the lucky moments are disposed,
like serendipity, I propose, 
in gratitude we savor those. 

Pouring the exact amount for my pill case, 
just missing the deer playing chase, 
finding a twenty in a pouch, 
or the back of my earring in the couch, 
turning straight to my desired page,
travel clothes in white, black and beige,
making a fortuitous mistake, 
a wrong turn that leads to a lake, 
leaving my speech on the counter at home, 
coming up with a better one right off my dome,
planting in a rough and gravelly plot,
and finding old pottery in that spot.

for the little things
brighten our day,
but get forgotten,
pushed away.
the list goes on,
i'm trying to keep,
a store of them
in memory deep.

Photo:  little things discovered while digging in yard.  by LA