Updated: Apr 6, 2022
The sounds of nature spring to life. The chirping of some jolly birds, the baaing of a lonesome lamb, the mumble of a nearby creek, the flimsy jingling of the sun’s infinite rays.
An idea comes passing by for a wink that I can’t ever hold. But it keeps reaching back, so there’s no need to save it anyway. In fact, there’s nothing to behold; everything is birthed and bound to go. So are evil, life, and death.
My world is captivated for a beat. By a bumblebee that’s buzzing by, and a butterfly squinting its kaleidoscopic wings. They’re there solely to disappear again while their vibrations lingers for much longer.
The wind picks up and urges the ancient pine tree’s limbs to flex. Graceful, the way he orchestrates them all around. The sound of bobbing needles tickling the breeze is like no tune like I’ve ever caught.
That’s just the way it is. And a sudden clarity ascends from deep within like blades of grass surrounding me on insanely saturated paddocks. Surge unceasingly and remain securely bedded nonetheless.
And so, life’s events are drifting along. Like zillions of chopped logs sailing down a sweeping river. Just like our roaming souls. Never to linger — other than in themselves.
Thank you for reading!
Originally published at: https://medium.com/woodworkers-of-the-world-unite/a-chirp-a-baa-a-mumble-5b5417916628