“We are all yeses. We are worthy enough, we passed inspection, we survived the great fetal oocyte extinctions. In that sense, at least — call it a mechanospiritual sense — we are meant to be. We are good eggs, every one of us.”
― Natalie Angier in “Women: An Intimate Geography”
“The best thing for being sad,” replied Merlin, beginning to puff and blow, “is to learn something. That’s the only thing that never fails. You may grow old and trembling in your anatomies, you may lie awake at night listening to the disorder of your veins, you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then — to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting. Learning is the only thing for you. Look what a lot of things there are to learn.”
I dwell in a forest of oak and pine Where deer trails converge to a single line That leads to a spring and a pond beyond. Each night I drift off to peaceful sleep with ease As Nature plays a rustling breeze Through the scrubby brush and the tops of trees. And I awaken each morning to the cardinal’s trill With a lifted heart and a silent thrill In knowing I belong to such beauty and grace As the forest of oak and pine in this place.
I transverse the thoroughfares of working life Amidst a jungle of concrete and steel, where So much energy is wasted in the busy-ness and strife Of productive occupation; And where I am tossed in a roiling sea Of mindless conversation. I armor myself with competency and success To blunt the blows and mute the stress of meaningless proliferation.
And at the end of a long, hard day, I am more than glad to be on my way Home to this forest of solitude and rest That enfolds me in its loving breast And fills my heart with home.
The summer heat continues, but spiders spin their intricate webs, hummingbirds urgently swarm porch feeders, soon they depart on their perilous southern journey, reds and oranges appear in the underbrush. The shortening days signal the change that is coming, and the spider lilies are blooming again.