My Monday started this week with a lovely email from a friend of mine, saying, "You should check out this poet -- if you haven't already", and including today's poem. I confess I hadn't heard of Barbara Crooker before, David, but I will not forget her now - and thank you. What a lovely celebration of daily life, a reminder that all those simple non-events are something to be grateful for. At least that's how I read it.

I've copied the first part of the poem below, with a link to The Writer's Almanac from years ago, where you can find the rest. I hope you'll click through.

Ordinary Life
by Barbara Crooker

This was a day when nothing happened,
the children went off to school
without a murmur, remembering
their books, lunches, gloves.
All morning, the baby and I built block stacks
in the squares of light on the floor.
And lunch blended into naptime,
I cleaned out kitchen cupboards,
one of those jobs that never gets done,
then sat in a circle of sunlight
and drank ginger tea,
watched the birds at the feeder
jostle over lunch's little scraps.
Read the rest at The Writer's Almanac.

It really is the little things, isn't it?