The sky is the daily bread of the eyes. Ralph Waldo Emerson
I
Sometimes when I'm working outside, I simply forget to look up, and it's my loss every time. I get focused on the (tiny) task at hand...weeding, transplanting, trimming, hoeing, while my mind moves even faster than my hands, turning over a situation I can't understand, weeding out reasons to do or not do something, moving thoughts and plans from one spot to another like so many lettuce seedlings. I lose track of the beauty that is spread above me like a feast and wonder why I feel so "done in" and weary. And then I lift my eyes heavenward; I change my out look to an "up look." The blue canvas dabbed with spun cotton takes my breath away and renews my spirit all in one deep gasp. Something shifts in me, and I am fed, nourished by the ordinary wonder of a June sky.
Last evening I took a walk at dusk. I chatted with some neighbors along the way, and before I knew it the sun was setting behind the mountains; I had to turn back if I didn't want to arrive home in deep darkness. The deserted country road was the perfect place for me to fully take in the glory of the evening sky.
I turned and turned, trying to take it all in, knowing I could not. I sang. Loudly. I breathed deeply, grace in, gratitude out. And then I noticed that I wasn't the only one still out and about. On the far hill, a lone farmer boy was working the field. Back and forth, back and forth across the long expanse, he bounced along behind the horses, preparing the hay for the next day's baling. I couldn't communicate with him, the distance between us was too great. But I wanted to shout aloud to him, while gesturing wildly,
"Look up, look up, oh, please look up. Don't miss it. Don't miss the wonder."
Last evening I took a walk at dusk. I chatted with some neighbors along the way, and before I knew it the sun was setting behind the mountains; I had to turn back if I didn't want to arrive home in deep darkness. The deserted country road was the perfect place for me to fully take in the glory of the evening sky.
I turned and turned, trying to take it all in, knowing I could not. I sang. Loudly. I breathed deeply, grace in, gratitude out. And then I noticed that I wasn't the only one still out and about. On the far hill, a lone farmer boy was working the field. Back and forth, back and forth across the long expanse, he bounced along behind the horses, preparing the hay for the next day's baling. I couldn't communicate with him, the distance between us was too great. But I wanted to shout aloud to him, while gesturing wildly,
"Look up, look up, oh, please look up. Don't miss it. Don't miss the wonder."
So, when tomorrow comes and you are soul deep in the dailyness of your busy life, attend to the hunger of your eyes for a good helping of sky. Remember to look up for your daily bread...every day new, every hour changing. And if you happen to see me, I won't mind if you call out a reminder: "Look up, look up, oh, please look up. Don't miss it. Don't miss the wonder."
Hummin'B
Hummin'B
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