Thinking about this stunning passage from Annie Dillard’s Holy The Firm today.
“I salt my breakfast eggs. All day long I feel created. I can see the blown dust on the skin of the back of my hand, the tiny trapezoids of chipped clay, moistened and breathed alive. There are some created sheep in the pasture below me, sheep set down here precisely, just touching their blue shadows hoof to hoof on the grass. Created gulls pock the air, rip great curved seams in the settled air: I greet my created meal, amazed.”