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Wonder
When it snows on the mountain outside my window, the white drifts of ice settle in the fir trees and form the outline of a howling wolf. Seeing it kindles my wildness and calls me toward it as if it holds some secret for me alone. A picture carved into the side of a giant stone pushed from the underside world to the upper, where it must live out its life, like a monument in the light. Proof of the depth below our feet. The miracle of life, embedded in layers of sparkling stone and silt before our eyes. I read there are maybe 250 galaxies for each one of us. 200 billion galaxies. There are anywhere from 2.5 to 25 trillion suns per person. Crushed stone, desserts, blue bowls of saltwater, threads of white mycelium talking to the roots of trees. Forests of willow and pine, oak and maple, cedar, and birch. Rivers of weather and disappearing clouds. We, the blessed ones, with eyes to behold and hearts to absorb it. I am aware that I am standing on the tip of a needle, with nothing to hold to. I am at the mercy of the whims of the wind. A quivering heart, stretching to comprehend the extraordinary rent we pay in being here. To be alive if to be flayed by the excruciating, intoxicating, grief and joy and beauty and bounty of it all. My smallness but willingness, my mighty heart looking to find itself amidst the choir.
I sat in the forest, trying to learn the language of the grass. One robin flew to a tree beside me. I connected quietly with his crimson feathered breast with a simple request in my mind, “If you are my angel, fly one branch closer to me.” Seconds later, ten of its friends flew from all corners of the forest encircling me in what felt like a confirming embrace, landing on branches near my head. Each one opened their throats in song. I don’t care if I am dreaming. Wonder is the currency I wish to live by.
