I notice those two dead spruce trees. Should I cut them down. They take up space. They are untidy. But, the mourning dove is there now, cooing. And the red winged black bird trilling; and armies of ants up and down feeding how many spiders and titmice.
I see shadows in my mind, of my days as a single parent, and the PhD that never materialized, and the painful decision not to teach Greek; because could I keep the family together and change careers with all those distractions?
Distractions. Wasted time. Torpedoed plans.
No, children are not distractions. Never distractions. Trees, even dead ones, and untidy ones, have absolute value in the great oneness of being. In the great community of life, even death has purpose.
Nothing is wasted where all things are loved.
Not distractions, but life lessons to be learned, again and again.