Life Can Be Compromising

"Living here can be compromising" says Dad to Danny in a John Irving novel. Isn't that our universal truth? Living here is a compromising series of on-purpose accidents. Living is compromising with mortality heavily favored to win out, maybe short-term, maybe later. But these odds between two categories switch places between eight looking toward sixty-four, and sixty-four looking longingly back toward eight, measuring all small and large compromises erupting through serenity in-between. Wonder is just taking a time out to notice the last clematis blossom is exactly the same color as the purple mums hiding behind her. Wonder is taking a moment as no more or less perfect just as it is, a snapshot between where we have come since Earth was growing glaciers to when Earth may, eventually, pass on. A moment perfectly balanced in full-color octaves of sight and sound and smell and savory taste of spectral Wonder.