I fell in love with a squirrel one day when he skittered across my path.
At first, it was a passing crush. I thought, “What a cute squirrel.” But then I noticed, really saw, the intricate white hairs fringing the brown fluff of his tail, and I was utterly besotted, overcome by the wonder of him. I saw the red leaves fallen beneath his feet, and I thought, “Lucky leaves, getting to touch the miracle of those tiny toes.” And then I noticed the exquisite network of veins running through the leaves, and I thought, “Lucky squirrel, getting to touch the miracle of those leaves.” I fell in love with them too, and the whole world exploded into a web of wonder. For ten perfect seconds, I forgot who I was.
That was the day I found out what purple smells like, and that spinach tastes like what cows must long for when they dream of grass. I learned that the separation between trees and sky is invisible, and that bugs who walk on water do know they are replicating Jesus, but they try not to get too cocky about it. I discovered that the world is chocked full of yellow, and if you smile at people fast, before they have time to think, they drop their masks for a moment and smile back. I noticed that my own mask has holes in it. I realized there are peekholes in everything, passages to another world. Everything is a wardrobe leading to Narnia. Everything is a train headed to Hogwarts.
Only no one looks because after all, we have bills that must be paid.