The Weight of Little Things
A century and a half ago, a Seattle writer mused on how the smallest details of life—a penny, a word, a drop of water—shape our massive, often overwhelming destinies.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
A kind word is a little thing, but it is just what soothes the sorrow of the sitting hen. An orange peel on the side walk is a little thing, but it unseats many a giant. An oath is a little thing, but it is recorded in the great ledger in Heaven. A serpent's fang is a little thing, but death is its victory. A baby is a little wee thing, but a constable was once a baby. A drop of water is a little thing, but it was the burden of the rich man's prayer in torment. A hornet's sting is a little thing, but it sends the holy man howling. A star is a little thing, but it can hold the celestial realm. A tongue is a little thing, but it sets the universe with troubles. An egg is a little thing, but the huge crocodile creeps into life out of it. A kiss is a very little thing, but it betrayed the Son of God into the hands of his enemy. A flea is a little thing, but he maketh it dizzy times for both man and woman. A spark is a little thing, but it can light the poor man's pipe, and save the world from ruin. The acorn is a little thing, but the black bear and his family live in the oak that springs from it. A word is a little thing, yet one word has been many a man's destiny, for good or evil. A penny is a very little thing, but the interest on it, from the days of Cain and Abel, would buy out the globe. A minute is a little thing, but it is long enough to pull a dozen aching teeth, or to get married, and have your own mother-in-law. A lap-dog is a little thing but it is a very silly thing besides. Life is made up of little things. Life itself is but a little thing. One breath less, then comes the plummet.
“Life is made up of little things. Life itself is but a little thing. One breath less, then comes the plummet.”
This reflection on the significance of the minute and the mundane feels remarkably modern in a city defined by massive shifts in industry and housing. Just as 1870s Seattleites looked at the 'little things' to find meaning amidst the noise of a growing frontier town, today's residents similarly cling to small, local touchstones while grappling with the rapid, often dizzying transformation of our urban landscape.
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