Wednesday, September 28, 2011

IT DOESN'T NEED US

Just yesterday, I was mentioning to my friend Keetha that it's often surprising how well the world gets along without our constant attention.    She'd been on a long hike to some secluded waterfalls, and the hidden scenery, there for the taking, but requiring a good-sized effort, was a lovely reward.

In my usual side-tracked fashion, I thought of early-morning airports when I saw those pictures she took on the trail. When I take a before-daylight flight, I am always astonished that so much of the world is out there, busy and cheerful and going places, and WOULD be, even without my presence.. They bustle on, even on the 364 other days when I'm still stumbling for the percolator.

Those waterfalls and bluffs and beautiful secluded places reachable only by steep paths would be right there, have been, will be, without witness or hearer. What a treat to be able to share in something so timeless and primal.    And the micro-universes going on in our own backyards are equally stunning, equally awesome, doing their own thing for eons without contribution from any being.   

The honeysuckle trees of Spring have become the bright berry-bearers of Fall:




Last year, we picked a few of the little berries for garnishing a mud pie or two, but this time---grander things were in store:   We were picking great droves of the darling little glowing BBs for making a cake for Sarah, who has been much in conversation lately.   I don't know if she's real, but Sweetpea speaks of her often, and she's real enough for some studious work.    We stood and picked, stood and picked, and finally I handed her a little stem.

(And lest anyone think we're playing around with dangerous plants of any kind---it's hard for me to believe that the same stems which yielded the honeysuckle from which we greedily sucked the nectar back in the Spring to no ill effect, would have turned into some sort of toxic fruit, luring us in with its glowing beauty).  Besides, the birdie-blessings on the lawn chairs and patio plants attest that the berries ARE, indeed, edible, though we would not dream of it.

She sat on the warm asphalt with the genes of a thousand countrywomen in her knowing.    Sit and pluck, sit and shell, sit and peel---save the standing for something you HAVE to.


I noticed the lengthening of the shadows as the air grew chiller; we called her for a photo.    She kept to her work, not budging except to ask for another stem of berries, so we went to her.     She's WAY short in the pictures, for she just would not shirk her duty long enough to stand up.


 We discovered other things going on without us all around the yard---the tomato vines are heavy with what we hope will ripen before frost, but we'll keep watch.    This beauty hiding in the Weatherbush would fry up just LOVELY about now.



I always love seeing things through a child's eyes, fresh and new and full of hope.   And it's still rewarding past words to stumble upon them, through my own.

3 comments:

Jane and Lance Hattatt said...

Hello Rachel:
It is intriguing to think of things happening right across the world when we are not there to witness them. It is as if they are all waiting in some kind of suspended animation just waiting for us to come upon the scene and spring into action!

And, you are so right. To see things through the eyes of a child, with their clarity and simplicity of vision, is a treasure indeed.

Tonja said...

I remember looking out the windows I would pass in school and marvel that there was actually someone doing something during school hours! I thought they all stopped and waited till school let out, I guess!

I said something akin when the oil spills happened recently and everyone talked about how the world was doomed! God, the Creator made this world...it is His and he needs no help running it or decorating it or cleaning it up!

Sorry I've not been reading much lately, but it was delightful to have several posts to read today! Hope you are well. Sounds as if life is treating you kindly...what a blessing!

Kim Shook said...

I've had the same feeling - how does all the world go on if I'm not watching. Hubris, huh?

I do feel a huge sense of responsibility to the creator for the gift that we've been given. I believe that we are all stewards of the earth - He has already told us that he is well please with good stewards. So, we need to nurture and protect our gift.