While lying on a bench softly gazing up at the underbelly of a tree, I watch the silken threads that appear suspended in the air, a web where spiders live in the community of trees, suggesting a life line.
I belong here with the underbelly of leaves and their intricate cuts and fine limbs that are connected to the nourishment; to the veins of order that properly feed each member of the whole. Where old and young cluster together in the rhythm of their nature without ego. The way they sit in stillness until the wind gives them movement that can be seen — when wind shakes the leaves and branches into a chaotic swing or a slow flow tango.
I watch leaves touch each other like intimate lovers and two blue shimmering dragon flies rise in their own rhythmic dance, moving through the community and participating in the nourishment. One by one I notice, every connected thread of nature’s symphony orchestrated by light and fed by Earth. I hear the sounds that chirp in my soul, the texture that plays on my own inner rhythm. The textures that rub me with a sense of play in the dance of wonder.
Questions tease me lightly into wonder: What if a tree wasn’t really a tree? What if it were strings of answers rooted inside of me? And what if spiders didn’t weave webs to capture prey? What if they simply connected to space for no reason at all? What if bobbing insects chaotically circle in and out of air as artists drawing hoops for blue jays to hop through? I wonder if the yellow bug feels his sunny paint meet the sun in the sky? Or if he thinks he is a bug that belongs amongst other bugs that fly off the ground and suspend in mid-air.
Ahhh — the vegetation of poetic rhythm and wonder that triggers the luscious green and rich landscape of my soul.