There is this little ray of light, 

that hit on the door knob just right, 

it came through this forgotten window,

of 200 years. 

The one that used to open up, so that air could get upstairs.

There was such an everyday purpose,

to everything they did. 

And not such an everyday purpose, 

as they were chiseling and making the bricks,

that used to be stones.

And how imperfectly it was all thrown together, 

and how inherently perfect,

because it is all,

in this moment, 

where I stand and see,

how the light comes together just right. 

Happy meditating,

-S