Every now and then you experience something that increases your capacity to feel. It digs away at the soil of the soul, excavating a deeper, broader cavern in your being. Most of the time this heart-hollow remains empty, or near empty, ebbing and flowing in small degrees as you experience the emotions of everyday. Then, at moments most unexpected — sometimes during a hike in nature or listening to a masterfully played concerto, yes, but also while doing the dishes on a Sunday afternoon or lying in bed at night at the end of a long day — a dam breaks somewhere upstream and this special part of your soul rushes to overflowing with awe, gratitude, and a square unlimnable sense of right. It doesn’t last long, it never does. But as this tide of feelings fades, certain crusty portions of your being erode with it, pulled gently, gently, gently away by tides of wonder until the moment has passed, leaving you more than you were before.