Whole things.

Each day, simplicity becomes more and more precious.

Simple wonder, as Yokesh discovers a piece of discarded styrofoam beneath a bush and and bounds across the yard scattering synthetic snowflakes under the August sunset.

Simple solidarity, as one small girl takes care of another because she is old enough; because she has a comb and hair needs combing.

Simple delight, as the Eden-eyed girl from Semmandakuppam studies the printed portrait I’ve brought nine thousand miles to place in her hands.

Simple beauty, as eyes as bright as the sunshine in Bangalore meet mine; delicate features full of elegance in miniature.

Simple celebration, as we embrace spontanaeity and inborn rhythm for no reason besides surplus joy.

Simple giving, as Yokesh hands me coral roses, petaled relics of the sacred, gravelly earth beneath our feet.

They teach me that simplicity lends space to the spirit, clarity to the mind, peace to the heart, rest to the body, light to the eyes. They teach me that simplicity makes fragments into whole things. They teach me to leave my shoes behind and let the soul run barefoot. They teach me to look through a lens of eternity, a lens of gratitude, a lens of grace.

Endlessly, they teach me.