Three things from DAH. 

DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. 
This Letter is Free every Friday!
You can subscribe and browse past issues HERE

First up this week: New … 
Shiny things can be so eye-catching. I'm always trying to notice, and the shiny-new always makes me look. The trick for DAH is not to be so distracted by the shiny-new that I neglect everything else of consequence. Or take inappropriate action because I'm so excited. But it strikes me as curious that my attention is also tempted by the old and worn. Good old wabi-sabi: The crack of imperfection that let's in the light. And there's so much in between the shiny-new and the tarnished-old. It's interesting to think about which shiny-new things will develop wabi-sabi appeal, and which will simply … get old and gone (most technology). New is exciting, but there's such comfort and familiarity in the old. If you're my friend (I hope you are) please take comfort knowing I love both new and old.

Second up this week, Never …

I'm resolved to life's reality that some things, especially people, are just gone. Either gone from me, or gone from the world, leaving only their touches in my memory. I'm resolved, resigned, but I don't like it. Not at all. And I never, never, never will. By the way, in case you're not familiar with King Lear, he's commenting on his dead daughter (and it's his own damn fault she's never-nevering, in my opinion). I'm willing to believe in comforting, cuddly ghosts if that will buy me more time with the goners. So, please, never never leave me. Or, if you must (I know: you must, I must) consider trying the cuddly ghost approach to comfort me.

Third up this week, Now …
Not really an option because now is all we've really got outside of memories and dreams. There's plenty of blather in the world about the "power of now." I suppose the blather is a good reminder that now may be all the time we're guaranteed. But do we really need that reminder? Now, I don't mean to recommend that you panic in an extreme sense of urgency … the "now or never" syndrome. Dreams of the future and idyllic dalliances of memory are lovely parts of life. And the world is spinning to Spring where I live, anyway. Lots of now is very pleasing, so not just empowering. Plus, now offers me new glimpses of new, and a reduced sense of never. I'll just try and extend this now moment and linger longer in love with life. 

A swift, sweet read ... 
The Littlest Library, by Poppy Alexander
This is not a profound book. It is a gentle, charming, Enlishy story. It made me both long to live in a small village, and grateful that I do not. I read through it rather quickly (easily done) and don't expect any deep thoughts to arise therefrom. But I did enjoy it, and sometimes that's just enough. Plus, what's not too like about a English phone booth library and it's gentle librarian?

And a bit more: 

"Instructions on Not Giving Up"
by Ada Limón

More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.

And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver's "Sometimes"