Even a wounded world is feeding us. Even a wounded world holds us,
giving us moments of wonder and joy. I choose joy over despair,
not because I have my head in the sand,
but because joy is what the earth gives me daily,
and I must return the gift.
~Robin Wall Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass
We must remain as close to the flowers, the grass, and the butterflies
as the child is who is not yet so much taller than they are.
We adults, on the other hand, have outgrown them
and have to lower ourselves to stoop down to them. . . .
Whoever would partake of all good things
must understand how to be small at times.
~Friedrich Nietzsche, (1844 – 1900)
Everything is made out of Magic,
leaves and trees, flowers and birds,
badgers and foxes and squirrels and people.
So it must be all around us. In this garden–in all the places.
~Frances Hodgson Burnett, (1849 – 1924)
Hurt no living thing:
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.
~Christina Rossetti, (1830 – 1894)
It is a wholesome and necessary thing for us
to turn again to the earth
and in the contemplation of her beauties
to know the sense of wonder and humility.
~Rachel Carson, (1907 – 1964)
The moment one gives close attention to any thing,
even a blade of grass,
it becomes a mysterious, awesome,
indescribably magnificent world in itself.
~Henry Miller, (1891 – 1980)
Here in the little woodland hideaway I call home, each morning in April offers a grand public performance, admittance free. The concert hall is a deep ravine whose walls are embellished with the delicate laces of budding boughs. Springtime flora and fauna attend this event in droves – violets select quiet rear seating; showy lilacs drenched in fine perfume lean conspicuously from private balconies; girlish groups of daffodils in fluttery pastels flock to the front; fox squirrels in opulent red-tinged furs slide into the upper gallery.
Almost imperceptibly, the soft curtain of dawn lifts. The concerto begins with a solitary robin’s lilting tune. Sung sotto voce, the haunting notes rise from a darkened stage. This tenderest of melodies is soon joined by the clear, high notes of a cardinal, who repeats the well-loved refrain, “Sweeeet, sweeeet, sweeeet, birdie birdie birdie birdie!” (A tufted titmouse, anxious to assemble all latecomers, whistles with quiet urgency from a shadowy side aisle.) Next appears the simple majesty of plainsong, intoned first by the chickadees, closely followed by a sublime chorus of white-throated sparrows. Lightly layered between these familiar themes are the proficient trills and soul-stirring grace notes of goldfinches and wrens. A blue jay inserts a series of staccato notes. A woodpecker pounds on drums of oak and maple. In a poignant counterpoint at once somber, sad and sonorous, a mourning dove croons its minor descant, the oft-ignored warning that moments flee, days scatter, years vanish. On center stage at last arrives the moment worth waiting for – the house finch’s ravishing solo, delivered to perfection with the combined fervor of Caruso, Bocelli, Renée Fleming, and the fabled Jenny Lind. As the stunning aria fades into silence, the listener is left staggered, breathless, suspended midair in a moment weightless with wonder…
New leaves in the understory lift tiny green hands of praise, offer wave after undulating wave of applause; daffodils exchange nods of heartfelt approval amongst themselves; flowering crabs fling scores of congratulatory rose-tinged petals to the wind.
Right on cue, the rising sun brings up the house lights. With a sudden flick of tail or flash of wing, the stage empties. One by one, the performers take their bows and retire to mossy nests or leafy bowers to rest. Later, they’ll rehearse anew for tomorrow’s dazzling repeat performance.
(You won’t want to miss it. Shall I save you a seat?)
The more clearly we can focus our attention
on the wonders and realities of the universe about us,
the less taste we shall have for destruction.
~Rachel Carson
May you see the world with wonder.
And may you imagine only good things.
~Charlene Costanzo
My Path with Stars Bestrewn 