“Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the water,
Or stand under the trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers riding opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or irds, or the wonderfulness or insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so quiet and bright …
What stranger miracles are there?”
–Walt Whitman
What do you think? Day after day we see the same sun and stars, walk through cities, and talk with someone we love. These were Walt Whitman’s miracles. In answer to the question at the end of the poem: What miracles do you have?
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