I was driving home from a spate of errand running a few days ago and was struck by the beauty of the day.
I'm often struck by the world around me, and can often be heard mumbling "Oh, my..." and "Thank you for the beauty of this day...", even when it's raining, blowing, or otherwise "rotten" out.
I wondered if anyone else was sharing the moment, the awe, or if they were just driving, just seeing the road ahead and what they had to do at their destination, the radio tuner or the CD player, their phone or iPod or other distraction.
I saw cows in a rolling pasture, black, white, brown, grazing among the anthills that studded the ground, mounds of grains of earth laboriously borne from the heart of the hill to the surface, dark red clay making a measles effect on the bright green grass. Above, the sky was London blue topaz peaking through ragged holes torn in whipped marshmallow clouds, themselves swirling into impossible peaks, whorls of white and grey making great sweeps across the horizon. I saw flower petals driven by the wind, having leaped from their trees to ride the gale before coming to rest and pinking the earth.
Every day, I see an amazing confluence of light, motion, chaos, and color. I see a cloud and know what a wonder it is, how it couldn't exist without the perfect conditions of water, particulate matter, temperature, and atmosphere. How unlikely is that cloud, and what a delight to see it and know it. How awesome is the wind, that blows and blows and is proof that you don't have to see a thing to know it is there. How like gods, is the wind, unseen, but felt nonetheless.
To see a bird in flight is to watch the end result of an eternity of constant change, constant fine-tuning to make each feather fall just so, each muscle function in the perfect way to hold the wing, to know that the song it sings is its own, and that all the other birds have ears to hear and know who calls, and why, while we who should be so much more hear so much less.
To eat an orange is more than just to consume fruit. We eat the wind that caressed it from flower to fruit. We eat the sun that warmed it, soaked into, became an integral part of its sweet-tartness. We eat the moon and stars that dappled it with silver light, fallen as dew on midnight's blue linen wrap. We eat the earth that nourished it from bud to juice-swollen perfection, and we consume the rain that cooled its sun-fevered skin, covered it with light refracting jewels, soaked into the earth, the tree, gave it life in liquid form.
Wherever I go, I see a complex, beautiful place, filled with complex, beautiful beings.
What do you see, when you remember to look?