WHISPERS

Tls 2017

WHISPERS

I marvel at the miracles of nature; the metamorphosis from worm to winged beauty, the passing of time etched in circles over and over again deep within the tree, the ever constant circle of life. I have but to watch a video of time-lapse-photography to realize all the wonders of nature going on all around me that I do not otherwise see. The flower I see in my garden one morning is so entirely different the next. The sunflower seed sustains not only the birds, but the squirrels, chipmunks and ants, and drops from the flower to the ground to replicate itself all over again. And though I barely notice the dew drop on a flower petal, it is not inconsequential to the hummingbird or the butterfly who sip from it the nectar of life.

If I can silence my inner chaos, I can hear nature’s song, a cacophony of voices that are a declaration of the abundance of life all around me; Saccade’s hum in absolute harmony.   I wonder, how does one know when to start and when to stop such that the rhythm of the symphony is not lost?  Each bird chirps out a melody unique to them.  A partner hears that song above all others and initiates a reply in a language only they can understand; yet to me from bird to bird the song sounds the same.

I am confounded by the eccentricities of nature, the exceptions to the rules.  Why does the Grackle deposit its eggs in the nests of other birds rather than its own? Why, in all of nature, is it only the male seahorse that carries and delivers its young?   What magical mechanism is at work when a lizard changes color to match its surroundings?  How can the thing that underlying the principle, “life will find a way”, be so adaptable, so pernicious and yet so elusive? 

And when I close my eyes and just allow myself to “feel” nature all around me, I am at once a cellular being taking in and expelling particles of energy unique to me; me and nature, we are one.  Most beings, whether human or otherwise, are driven by a force of nature etched in stone and as steadfast as the passing of time – survival of the species.  Reproduction is critical to ensuring that, but it is not the be- all/end-all I would like it to be.  My children are not my legacy, they are theirs.  From the moment I breathed the air of this wondrous universe an exchange between me and it began.  It will end when every last bit of dust I am is exhausted, having been expelled into the farthest reaches of space.