Hey, little man.

“You need to let the little things that would ordinarily bore you suddenly thrill you.” 

-- Andy Warhol

Blueberry stem with a bearded face 6-9-13

 “I still get wildly enthusiastic about little things ... I play with leaves.”

 -- Leo F. Buscaglia

I eat a bowl of berries and almonds every morning -- a breakfast that means I never get a toy surprise in the bottom of the box.
But today -- surprise! -- I found this little twig man attached to a blueberry stem in my bowl.
He is very tiny -- barely a half inch high.
I know this, because I measured him.
He weighs nothing at all.
It could have easily overlooked him.
I might have eaten him.
I almost rinsed him down the disposal with the other stems, twigs and squishy berries.
Luckily, I didn't.

He is so small that I didn't know for sure that he even had a face until I shot a few frames through my macro lens and got a good up-close look at him. And even on my camera's display screen, I couldn't make out any facial details well enough to be certain. But when I viewed the images on my computer, I was frankly amazed at what I saw -- the little man had a distinct, intricate, complete face -- writ incredibly small, yes, but nevertheless complete -- with eyes, lips, a scruffy beard and mustache, even a messy haircut and a personality!

And to think I almost missed it.

Sometimes when I am feeling numbed by discouragement, I get side-swiped by one of life's tiny miracles and it sort of shakes me up -- the universe throws me a gift, like this fragile, yet rugged-looking, little twig man -- and I feel a trickle of wonder, a ripple of hope that my troubles might actually work out some day, and that even if they don't, I'll be OK. Somehow, I'll be OK.

Because some celestial artist carved this delicate little face just for me. Just for this day.

And even though it's just a little thing, in these moments, I sense that the universe, or nature, or God, or Gaia, or whoever is out there, knows better than me precisely when I need a boost, and then drops something intimately specific right in with my breakfast -- like a wee note of encouragement urging me to keep going for just one more day.

And so I will.

Because even though insomnia ravages my nights, making them feel endless and cruel, there is always a tomorrow waiting on the other side.

And who knows what tomorrow might bring?

Don't be gruel

“I’m glad scrambled eggs don’t have lips, 

because when I’m grinning over a hearty breakfast, 

it would really freak me out to see my breakfast grinning back.”

                                  

                                    -- Jarod Kintz,

There are Two Typos of People in This World:

Those Who Can Edit and Those Who Can't    

Porridge face 4-26-13

 "Hurray', shouted Glokta. 'Porridge again!'

He looked over at the motionless Practical. 

'Porridge and honey, better than money, 

everything's funny, with porridge and honey!”

                                                                                      -- Joe Abercrombie, The Blade Itself

There's a saying that if you walk around carrying a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail.

What if you walk around carrying a camera? Does everything start to look like a face?

It seems to hold true, because I see faces everywhere. 

I see faces in the wood grain of the bedroom door. 

I see faces in the texture of the carpet.

I see faces in the paint swirls in the faux-finish on my bathroom walls.

I saw this guy smiling back at me from my bowl of hot quinoa porridge. 

And since I do walk around carrying a camera, I did what I do.

He was there. So was I. It happened. We both liked it.

I think he's pretty cute.

I ate him anyway.

He was mushy.