The small and the great: together they play a game.
The small life at home, the great life in the world.
Or is the small greater than it seems?
Because what is greater than the piece of grass coming up again after the tread
of the foot?
Or the eyelash of the animal that walks by your side because it trusts you?
Or the child asking questions?
What is the small? What is really important, what is real?

Worldly deeds are fine and great. But behind the walls, in the shadow, a mother
mashes up the food for her child. There is a man stroking the cat and a bird calls him.
Someone is opening a door and walks through the rooms.
Above the house clouds are passing by and in the garden is the rustling of the day and the night.
Who knows what is great and how it unfolds?