There was a woman who lived quietly in the world. She won no awards, saved no lives. Mostly, she did the best she could to get by.
But she loved. People, trees, skies, animals, moments, promises, roads, words. She took the time as much as she could for wonder, enchantment, and appreciation.
She did nothing great with this love. Her art was small, simple, like her life. She would never be famous. She would probably be forgotten.
But love needs no fame to thrive. Each smile she gave to a stranger, each flower she pressed in a library book, each hug for an unhappy child, each moment in which her love shone out, would not die. It would echo on down through time. The books she wrote would be those quiet words of encouragement someone got stuck in the back of their mind. The art she painted would be memories someone could look back upon always to make them smile. The healing she did would be taught on through the generations - how to bandage a little scrape, how to sing a lullaby. She was making a legacy, even in the quiet, getting by.
illustration errol le cain