Everything is new all the time

I’ve walked on the small corner of our planet – the one I call ‘my patch’ – maybe a thousand times. I’ve crossed this unexceptional parcel, when health allows, many times over the last few years.

The same path from the cemetery on to the old abandoned golfcourse - nothing to see here. The track that becomes muddy after rain and seems want to stay muddy long after dryness has come back into fashion.

But hang on...

It’s never been muddy *quite* like this. I’ve had to skirt round it clinging to dry parts – but never *quite* in this way.

And look at those thistles, that arrangement of flowers crossed with medieval weapons, one in front, two behind. And the way they seem to slide past the willows at the back, as I walk by – I’ve never, ever seen that – it's a totally new thing.

What about that beech tree trunk with its network of byways made of darker bark as it dries out after rain. They'll soon go and only I will ever see these, and only now will I see them just like this.

You see one and then notice a whole ephemeral carnival of them. Words written in snail-trails of damp. What are they saying?

"take notice"

"be aware"

"wake up"

I find that the dullest of days, the most uninspiring of scenes can be completely and instantly transformed by the simple act of putting on, not rose tinted spectacles, but the ones that see novelty in everything and every moment.

Every ‘now’ and all that it contains *is* new - it’s just a case of seeing it. All it requires is a simple ‘tilt’ of the mind – a slight change in the way things are perceived.

An alchemy that's available in each moment. One that transforms the ordinary - into the awe-dinary.

And it's only small sidestep, from ‘everything is new’ to ‘everything is beautiful’ – they go hand in hand.

Hand in hand, moment by moment.

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