One thing I love about the woods is this: the moment needs to be nothing other than the moment. No expectations or judgments.
The hooded warbler sings a song, then a portion of a song. Soon he will start to fly south. This moment he sings here in the angled golden sunlight. The sunlight casts mottled gold through the trees and leaves; it both brightens and darkens the forest, simultaneously.
Caterpillars crunch leaves above. A black-throated green warbler sings.
Hopey sits in a spot of sunlight. She is aging and will die. This moment she sits quietly with me. There are blackberries that could be picked. They hang ripe on the brambles.
The earth turns and the sunlight is shifted.
This moment is heartbreakingly beautiful. And it is just a moment.
2 comments:
And the writer writes....beautiful.
I wish...
So beautiful. Thank you.
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