Show Me!

When I step out on to my deck, I say to the world, “Show me!” My sudden presence is intrusive so the world, those parts of it which can move, scurry or fly away. The blossoms, petals, and leaves remain mute. It is only when I sit quietly and observe the world shows itself. The essence of the lilacs drifts and is suddenly filling my head. The robins fly close in and dart from perch to perch, from the roof to the rocks, to first this tree and then another. They hop right up to where I sit, pecking here, looking there before fluttering to another place that might have the promise of a worm or bug. A large male crash flies through the leaves of the apple tree causing spent blossoms to flutter away and down to the ground. He grabs a branch, looks down at me and breaks into song. He is just a few feet away and when he tips his head back to sing and I can literally see is throat. I wonder how his voice works. He doesn’t care about my watching. His song is not meant for me but I still take it as my own.

My world shows itself to me and lets me hear it sing but only if I am still and my presence quiet and respectful. The wind shifts a little and the aroma of wetness from the garden as my wife waters her newly planted seedlings and plantings. It is a subtle presence, gentle but still there and very real.

Robins and smaller birds, flutter, and flitter around the fountain. They fly close to the water falling into the lower barrel and wet themselves and flap their wings. The breeze, what little there is, fades to stillness. The robins seem extra active this morning but it occurs to me that it is more likely that I am extra attentive.

The air is still chilled but there is a promise of warmth as the sun creeps up over the eastern hills. The clouds float by overhead. They are flying rapidly, driven by the higher winds aloft. They are flat and torn into pieces of cotton with gray-tinged bottoms. They signal an approaching front which is likely to arrive this afternoon. My fingers have grown cold even as I type. A robin lands at my feet and looks right at me and questioningly cocks her head to the left and then right as if asking me a question. Frustrated at my lack of response she hops away and pecks the gravel a couple of times and then flies off.

This world of mine is always here, is always present. The trees stand mute. The grass grows greener and taller by the hour. The blooms, blossoms and leave roll open and spread out to take their part in the procession life. I am always here too but seldom present. I often think about my world and dream about being in it but it is rare for me to take the time. I am present now. I am in the world and it has shown itself to me. It is singing to me. It feels my senses with a physical essence of reality to which I am only a visitor but never a resident.

I am calm, but like my cat, trapped inside by the patio door, I yearn for more. I feel a sense of loss. There is no good reason but the feeling remains. Calm without peace is sad when I am surrounded by a world created for me and for which I was created. I pray for peace. The answer is in the breeze because I know that is where God’s voice is heard.  Maybe I should sit and listen more, for just a little longer. Maybe I will hear him answer.