Out here, I rise and fall with the sun. For the first time in my life I am becoming acquainted with the rhythms of the earth. She beckons me to know her and the fact that she is alive, living and dying, breaking and regenerating, has become inescapable to me. My son is largely responsible for this. His persistent desire to explore regardless of inclement weather has fostered in me a new level of submission to the elements. I am meeting her on her terms, in her domain. And like a lover who finds equal delight in the unseemly, varied temperaments of his beloved, I am finding myself charmed by nature’s mood swings.
The sky has much to say. Constant cloudless sunshine would be far too one-dimensional for her. She is dynamic, her incomparable beauty magnified by her countless faces. Every angle offers a different profile. Walk a bit further and look up again. Observe how she’s changed. How rarely we notice. These days I find myself periodically running out to the porch to check on her and bask in her vicissitudes, what new color combinations she’s fashioned today, weaving delicate hues of quilted cloud patterns. I’m spellbound.
My fascination with the sky’s caprice is rivaled only by the trees. Lately I am mesmerized by the stark silhouettes of gnarled, crusty branches as they climb their way to heaven. I have always been bewitched by the brilliant blooms of Spring and the magical color conversion of Fall, but Oh! the branches… the twisting, exploratory branches creating mosaics in the sky, connecting firmament and humus, embodying the ancient wisdom of roots buried miles underground and the plight of man to reach, reach, reach the gods. To ground and reach, to be firmly planted, but still reach. They have such to teach us.
We cannot all live on 4,000 acres, but the next time you walk out your front door and onto the glorious dirt, I invite you to pause
And give thanks. Thanks that we get to inhabit this living, breathing, enigmatic space–earth.