It's the faint song of wind chimes on the warm summer's breeze,
The silence of a great pine forest, towering sentinels all in a row.
It's the lazy Sunday brook trickling down amidst the magnolia blossoms,
The brilliant white stars painting pictures up in the night sky.
It's the creak of an old rocking chair overlooking vast fields of sun,
The laughter of children racing down the old dirt lane to meet the mail truck.
It's the trickle of raindrops on an old tin roof,
The sight of a barn still standing, saying "No, I will not go."
It's the sight of a lone leaf atop a maple tree in autumn,
The morning stroll with a loved one down the road.
It's the aroma of spicy apple pie wafting through an old country house,
The wrapped up wooly feeling of a favorite blanket.
It's the ability to stop and enjoy the afternoon,
The belief that "There is no hurry, we shall all get there some day."*
It's all the little things in life.
The brief moments, thoughts and sights that touch us in a way we will not forget,
That really matter.
* From A.A. Milne's The House at Pooh Corner as seen in Hoff's The Tao of Pooh
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.