That is why we have days. And sunrises. And mornings.
At the close of each day we learn a little more about ourselves. If we pay attention to the days we have had. Gifts, treasures, the blessings of discovery should not be fated to a furtive glance but caressed and questioned so that our hearts become soft and our minds firm.
As days turn to years, understanding becomes expected instead of accepted. We strive after a wind we cannot hold rather than allowing the breeze to take us where we should go. And when we resign ourselves to a fate of unknown tomorrows the gift of the present unwraps a talent held dormant. Where looking becomes seeing and knowledge leans into the light of understanding. We become wealthy with the currency of approval, agreement and yes, accession.
We rise to a posture not of position, but to arrive at a place that frees us to ask, how then shall I live?
With this image I take you to Dearfield, Colorado. It is about 70 miles from Denver. Oliver Toussaint Jackson, a successful businessman in Boulder, bought this land in 1910 with the intention to build a town for African American homesteaders. At its height, the town had 300 residents, two churches, a school, and a restaurant. The Great Depression had decimated this town and by 1940 only 12 residents remained.
I leave you with Dead Television, Dearfield, Colorado.
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