I wake to see Venus and the Moon above the eastern horizon, at first against the deep dark blue of night, then little by little, their light together, steadily concealed by the dawn. As daylight approaches only the finest crescent is visible, then suddenly their reach is out of sight.

I have loved looking up at the night sky all my life, and yet still, I so easily forget its beauty once the day begins. My knowing never matches the experience of my seeing.

When I hear of violence far away, I all too easily ignore it as it does not immediately seem to threaten me, nor those I love. Besides, what can I do? What difference would my tiny protest make? Surely none.

A life harmed, harms me. The harm may not be clear, but when I turn away, when I am silent to those harmed, when I face no risk to voice my view, I fail. My failure to feel lessens me, weakens me.

When I care, I give a little of myself. Giving, even a solitary thought for another, strengthens me.

I am given something precious. It has no scent. It is not something I can touch, taste, hear nor see. It cannot be planned. It is beyond price, ephemeral. Music is the kindle of this gift.

I am present at a moment of deep feeling, of gentle yet overwhelming force. A moment of sadness, comfort, and love. Before long composure returns and distance returns.

Another's experience becomes respected, treasured, despite the smallness of its time.