So
there you are. It's Saturday morning, and after unconsciously setting
up a pot of coffee you stumble into the garage and hit the
wall-mounted button for the garage door opener.
The
noisy clatter of the door, the harsh light of the naked bulb and the
unseemly clutter do not prepare you for what awaits as you step
outside to fetch the paper from the driveway.
There,
against a sky suitable for a Maxfield Parrish print, hangs a crescent
moon, Venus and Mars, arrayed like an astral earring.
The
contrast to the mindless mundanity of your morning routine could not
be more pronounced. The colors, the simplicity and the resonant,
silent beauty of it all renders you mute.
You
stare.
Paper
in hand, you reflect on nature's repeated ability to inspire and
surprise you. To fill you with a very rare commodity called wonder.
Then
you recall Pope Francis' half-heard cry to protect this jewel called
Earth, and the willful, short-sighted greed and selfishness which
will destroy it.
You
close the door behind you. But only literally.
No comments:
Post a Comment