Fortunately most days I can laugh at myself like recently when I took the wrong interstate exit and drove fifteen miles on the wrong road before realizing the little unincorporated bergs through which I traveled were not new to the area over the summer.
Yes, I drove along actually thinking not only were these new towns like mushrooms having sprouted over the prior three months, but that the county in which I found myself had the nerve to annex these towns by moving the county line. I know I'm a beat late in getting news but I wondered how I missed that, the uproar that surely ensued with the changing of a county line.
Finally it occurred to me that the exit at which I get gasoline is not the same exit I take to reach the town to which I was headed. I turned around, got quite a laugh and enjoyed the drive.
In the midst of getting back on track that day as well as in my morning ritual of writing I've been savoring the scenery thanks to my senses. This week I've sat wrapped in a blanket outside enjoying these soul satisfying unusually cool August mornings. This morning a shadow flitted past and I looked up to see a black butterfly with hints of blue seeking nectar from summer's last flowers, geraniums and impatience. I heard a cardinal tucked in a row of evergreens. Its constant chirp alerted me and its kin to its whereabouts. I looked more closely and saw two hummingbirds and a chickadee in the trees, the trees whose name I cannot recall.
What if, unlike finally realizing I'm on the wrong road, the name of these trees does not return to me? How shall I describe them?
Their slender, lithe (another word has returned!) trunks are filled with branches and leaves. Four of them stand in a row ready to play "Mother, May I?" the childhood game of steps, leaps and jumps. Their smooth leaves never loose their shine or deep green color nor do they fall, creating a perfect shelter for birds especially in winter. These four stand fifteen feet tall while the first one we planted, the one that inspired these, towers above them.
For now, they are the constants in our yard reminding me that recovery like living is a process to be experienced whether I'm driving along a country road or sitting in my backyard.
How often do I miss the depth of things because I rush to provide them with a 'correct' name or label? How often do we miss what's right before us, because we do not take time to really look, to really see?
I am grateful to these nameless trees. They are nectar for me and remind me I will not loose my way if I am open to the Nameless. Loosing words or my way opens me to the way.
Imagine the shift if we named less and experienced more.
-Dawn! The Good News Muse, 27 August 2010
* Click HERE for the piece on the Oxford Jr. Dictionaries removing 10,000 words, many nature related from their latest edition.
1 comment:
How many times have I ended up not going in the right direction only to find out that it was exactly the direction I needed to be going!
Post a Comment