Down on my knees cutting kindling in the cold still air, I don’t just think I’m the luckiest man who ever passed this way – I know I am.
It doesn’t matter where, or when, you live. It only matters that your heart stays open, that your heart can be your home, so that regardless of external conditions, you have a safe harbor at the other side of the passing storm. You have a place to return to, a place that is yours and yours alone. A place you can carry with you wherever you roam, as you walk, run, marvel and weep through the wide wild world.
It doesn’t matter what colors the painter chose for the picture. It’s how you see them.