A world made whole

Low Tide on a Spring DayFrom my earliest memory, I have loved being in nature. I frolicked in the out of doors, savoring every second I could:

rolled down a hill with gravity pulling me faster and faster, out of control; jumped into a fragrant pile of leaves trusting it would cushion me;

plunged into a pool when the air popped with heat; shushed down a quiet, snow covered slope toward a tiny chalet, smoke twirling above its chimney;

rocketed a backhand, uncoiling the power of my body to propel a fuzzy ball on an accelerating arc to my opponent’s feet.

These are the gifts of being alive on Earth, this magnificent creation.

Only here can I be carried away by the scent of orange blossoms; only here can I gaze into the blue mirror of a lake at mountain peaks and passing clouds.

I come away from digital kingdoms that replicate at exponential speed; I come away to a world made whole, and wholly holy.

For years I sensed Earth’s wholeness, whenever I remembered and returned.

For years I pursued knowledge to understand why it was that way.

And then, I just accepted the world was made whole.

And now, I realize I was, too.

 

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