It's only a drop, clutching to the end of a slender blade of wild grass. Not enough to quench the thirst of a migrating gazelle, or wash the mud off of a meticulous white rabbit's hind foot. Yet in partnership with numberless other drops, it brings a sparkle akin to diamonds.

My mother used to tell me that the shimmering colors were from the fairy dresses, that had been hand washed after a night of dancing, hung out to dry in the morning sun. I believed her, and wished I could stay up later than eight o'clock. 

Much of what I accomplish feels no bigger than a drop. Last night I made grilled cheese sandwiches with applesauce. There are only dirty dishes left as evidence. Did it matter much, in a world where stocks are dropping and the money spent on campaign ads could bring a sub Sahara nation back from starvation? Today I will help a little girl and her mother concoct costumes for a play she is directing for other six year olds. It will not have a long run before her interests move on to brownie making. Yesterday John and I recorded a couple more songs, to swim into the stream that is itunes, and perhaps serve as background music for a preschool class. 

We went out to breakfast with another couple, and heard about their courtship. The story was as sweet as the almond milk and granola in my bowl, and will nourish me for longer. I enjoyed how they shared the telling. Early on they went on a double date, he with another girl, she with another man, and spent the evening wishing they were with each other. They smiled at the recollection. 

Yet collectively, all of the applesauce, and princess dresses, and conversations over eggs look to me like diamonds in the sun.