Bella hopped on my bed this morning to inform me the sun was out. She and Tiger have been rather disgruntled about this rain. The sun is out, though now that seems an odd way to say it. It sounds like it is extinguished. The sun is offering light to the trees and there are shadows. Photosynthesis knows spring is here.
I read the news this morning, trying to find a glimmer. Oh, my! It is a heavy weight.
Then, I read this poem in Writer's Digest and decide to put the weight of my thought process there. The sun is making golden diamonds of the drops on the redwood tree. There are still some berries on the Pyracantha bush and the sun's light is not held in the clouds. In this moment, it pours on through like blessings and grace. May we all be well. May we all pull through a crisis unlike what most of us have seen, and may priorities become clear, turned to gold and diamonds like water in sun on trees.
More and more I have come to admire resilience.
Not the simple resistance of a pillow, whose foam returns over and
over to the same shape, but the sinuous tenacity of a tree: finding the
light newly blocked on one side,
it turns in another.
A blind intelligence, true.
But out of such persistence arose turtles, rivers, mitochondria, figs—
all this resinous, unretractable earth.