A great, winged cloud, full of radiance,
hovered over the wetland’s pond
where, just this week, the ring-necked ducks
arrived, and claimed it as the perfect place
to build their nests and raise their young.
They were only the first of many birds
who will summer here in this protected space,
home to beaver, deer, coyotes, rabbits, raccoons,
and more, countless flying, swimming, bounding more.
And soon the air will be filled with their scents
and their sounds and with choruses sung
by hundreds of peepers and bullfrogs.
And the great cloud, hovering overhead,
seemed somehow to be conferring its blessing,
to be anointing this piece of sacred ground.
A cloud of crownvetch dusts the hills beside the highways. Whizzing past at 70 miles an hour, the cloud is all you see.
It’s like one of those photos of an intersection thick with pedestrians taken from 20 floors up in some city. You see the whole mass at once.
Only when you take the time to zoom in do the individual faces become clear, with all their exquisite details and stories. And then, when you look deeply, they take your breath away.
It’s all a walk in the park, life. The rest’s a cloud made from the dust we kick up along the way, reflecting the sunlight and shadows.
The earth beneath your feet, the trees, the sky above are real enough. We all agree on that. It’s the stuff that’s up for grabs that’s make-believe.
Let it all go. When you rise above the dust, it all becomes clear–and infinitely beautiful.