My little boy.
Sweeping up leaves with his trusty wooden toy broom, lost in a three year old’s busy work.
All its meaning in the process. The journey.
He’s learning how to be big and grown up, where nothing is about the journey any more.
We are swept up with the idea of the end result.
It’s funny how this three year old is so wise. He reveals the secret to me of life’s purpose in his purposeless sweeping.
There is no end result.
There is only
experiencing this life and this world with fresh excited eyes.