I am so small.

I am so small.

The ego wants to be big, but all we can ever be is small. My daughter is small. When she grows big, she will learn things that make her feel even smaller.

I look at the blossoms on a tree. So beautiful for a moment, and then blown in the wind and crushed underfoot. Made from dirt and sunlight, and returned to dirt every year.

I look at the sun peeking through the clouds. The clouds swirling and breaking apart above me, moving faster than I would have noticed otherwise. Dark clouds and bright ones, blue sky separating them like rivers, the sun bursting forth in an oblong shape, so bright I can't even look at it.

And as I watch, a gull flies by, and a tern. Crows caw. Everyone on their busy way. A male duck chases his girl, and even further above me, an airplane carrying untold amounts of people.

I am looking up at it and I am so small. And the bird on the line above me looks so big.