Even though I paint them frequently, in tiny sketchbooks, with fine brushes, I’m still surprised at how small they are when I see them en route. The winged details, often too small for the tiniest hairs of my most intricate brush, flutter in the trees. Not disturbing a leaf, yet still able to lift my heart.

And then I’m not small anymore. I’m no longer, “but what can I do?” “There’s only me?” I see the heavy lifting of this tiny bird, this “one,” and I am reminded that that’s all it takes. One. One small detail. One effort. To make maybe not this world better, or even this day, but certainly this one moment in time, yes, better, right here, in the flutter.

So on this first day. This number one. This tiny number that we tried to issue in with a bang of promises. We welcomed perhaps with rockets red glare of dazzling hope. How do we sustain the magic? I step out and have to believe, that I am, we are, not small anymore. And maybe, just maybe, it all continues, with a flutter.

Happy New Year!