I knew a man in college who grew up in the inner city of Chicago & what he was doing in Iowa
I never did figure out. But whenever he would see a jet trailing across the sky,
he would stop everything he was doing & he would watch. Once, after a jet was gone & there was
nothing left but the white line disappearing like a scar into the blue, he turned to me & said,
An airplane is a miracle & I didn’t give it much thought, but now & then, when I am ready to give
up hope for human beings in general, & for one or two of them who are bugging me specifically,
I will look to the sky & there will be one of those miracles & I will remember it’s all about
concentrating on the right thing.
popped her head in last weekend and said.
"your smoke is doing that thing again"
an ordinary moment.
with an extraordinary result.
if you have a chance today.
listen to this.