SMALL THINGS MAKE A DIFFERENCE

Snow had been pouring from the iron-gray sky for the better part of an hour. Now, the storm was over and the wind had stilled, leaving every limb and branch and twig with a frosting of fluffy white. A scene of winter wonderland. When I stepped outside the first thing I noticed was the quiet, though a muted stillness oddly lacking in comfort, as if the world at hand were collectively stunned. An uneasy silence, tense, discomfited, even while I stood amid the yard’s familiar surroundings. The river ten feet below the bank slipped along soundless as a furtive shadow. The woods on the island across from the cottage looked foreboding, as if something brought in by the storm might be lurking amid its dense tangles. And the big sycamore, stolid and ancient, which leans like a wise Druid in a nearby corner near the drive, was remote, guarding its secrets like an old friend who refuses to speak or smile. Maybe it was the light that set this mood, for the sky remained flat and dull—exuding a sort of midmorning gloom that robbed the powdery snow of its crystalline sparkle. Or perhaps it was just me—a seed of melancholy trying to sprout and grow, a sudden onset of low spirits caused by circumstances and worries and a feeling that I was on the verge of becoming shallow and trivial…worthless; an inconsequential man living a banal life. Whatever it was closed around me like a dark and heavy blanket. How long I stood there I couldn’t say—five minutes, ten? Long enough that the cold in the air and the chill in my soul met and melded, a numbing both corporal and spiritual. And then…and then, a robin flew in and landed in a nearby tree. Such as small thing, a winged trifle, merely an incidental addition to the immediate landscape. What difference could a small bird make? As it turned out—everything! In an moment relief washed over me like a cleansing flood. My spirits were instantaneously lifted, my heart filled anew with faith and hope and joy. The morning was beautiful and mine to savor. I was the luckiest man on earth. How often it is that a small act makes a big difference. We forget this truth regularly, waiting for the profound change, the monumental moment, stuck in the notion that significance is related to size. Yet time and again it’s the little things that count—a kind word, a hug, a kiss on the cheek. Not much. A letter or card, a phone call, a meal shared, a visit. Maybe just a handshake or a pat on the shoulder. Really, not much at all. Any good photographer or painter knows that sometimes all you need in a scene is that one detail, a tiny highlight or a dab of color. The slightest of additions can change everything, make all the difference. It’s the small things that give life value. The sweet damp of an April morning. The silkiness of your child’s hair when you give them a friendly tousle. The light you see in your true love’s eyes as you stare at one another across a candlelit table. A single word can give courage. A simple handshake can create trust. Just being there, in shared and understanding silence, a friend, when words and gestures fail. That single robin sitting in a tree overlooking the river was not particularly colorful, and as Ohio birds go—even in winter—it certainly wasn’t uncommon. But it was the detail that invoked the change…in both the scene and me. Small things make a difference