By Ruth Amos

I am writing this in what feels like the early hours of the morning, in a very quiet house. It is not that I’ve been particularly virtuous, setting an alarm and waking up to have a quiet time by myself, but that we changed back from daylight savings time yesterday and my body has not yet adjusted. So I woke up, rested and refreshed, at 6.30am (a very early time for me – I don’t understand how Scottie and Joe do it!).

In the tree outside my window there are three rainbow lorikeets, two galahs (oh, make that four galahs) and a host of tiny little birds. They are so beautiful and I am totally enjoying their vibrant colours and their bird calls. It’s a gift, again, not due to anything I’ve done but an absolute joy to behold. The morning sun is glinting off the shiny gum leaves. The grass below me looks gorgeously green. There are white fluffy clouds and a blue-as-blue sky. It’s just totally gorgeous this morning.

I have not done anything particularly wonderful to deserve all this wonder and glory. But I think that one thing I can do is be mindful of it. Today I am trying not to let it slip away, not to let it pass without being noticed. I am trying not to let it get buried under a list of things that I ‘really should’ do. I am trying to be mindful, to enjoy it, to be grateful. I am so grateful, both for the beauty, and for the chance to enjoy it. And very grateful that each day is new.

Doesn’t that strike you as amazing? Every. Single. Day. Is different!

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I remember when it first hit me.

I used to live on a farm about 30 minutes from Hobart. Each day I would catch a bus in to town to go to school. The bus would pick me up in the little town closest to where I lived and then we would go on a tortuous route around a collection of houses called ‘Midway Point’ because (I think) it is midway between two causeways. So we would go over the water to get there, then round and round the streets then over another stretch of water. The water was often calm – it’s in a fairly protected area – but sometimes, if the wind was going the right way, there were big waves crashing over the causeways. There were always birds too, heaps of seagulls, wheeling and diving. After the causeways we would pass the airport and drive through a farming area – large paddocks, horses, that sort of thing. After that, some bush – gum trees, hills, then into the city, over the big bridge over the river and looking at the beautiful mountain that overlooks Hobart.

As I said, that drive took about 30 minutes and sometimes I tried to sleep, sometimes I caught up with my very good friend who caught the same bus, sometimes we made origami cranes out of the bus tickets. The trip was incredibly repetitive, and to be honest, often it felt like a complete waste of time. But I remember one day realising that even though we did the same thing, in the same place, day after day, each day was different. The view changed. The clouds were always changing. The movement of the water and the birds changed from day to day. The light was different, it fell a different way. Some days felt moody and threatening, some days light and beautiful, but no day, not one day, was exactly the same as another. Each day was different.

If you feel stuck in a rut, remember, there is a new day each day. Every day is new. Look up, look around, appreciate the creativity that creates each day anew.

The bible tells us ‘His mercies are new every morning’. May you discover new mercies today.
Ruth Amos is a chemistry researcher and lecturer, a maths tutor and a mother of two fairly grown up kids. She is also experimenting with writing in her small amount of spare time. You can read her blog