Soiled laundry. A son playing outside, cartwheels on concrete, summertime somersaults. A husband’s grass stains from a thousand fields freshly mown. And socks. My lord, the socks. Can you imagine it? A pair for each day.
Dirty dishes. Family eating together. Or sometimes just near each other. No hunger pangs. No deprivation. The warmth of a full stomach and the energy to march on.
Stacks of papers to grade. Young men and women transferring thoughts to words, playing with the texture of their lives, exercising the volume of their voices. Learning to trust the glorious sound.
Early morning alarms. An invitation.
Piles of trash. The sheer luxury of having more than we need, and in some cases, unnamed souls willing to dispose of it for us.
Exercise. The ridiculous extravagance of time set apart to burn away the excesses we never deserved in the first place.
Broken hearts. An inevitable product of a life well spent.
Life, in its fullest, will ever be how we think of it.