2020 has been harsh. Can’t count the times that I’ve leaned back and thought, “Wow … what would I do without the wild things?”
When I can’t stand one more debate over face masks or listen to one more news headline that starts with the letters “C-O-” and ends with the number 19…
When my stomach is all knotted up over what how kids are being affected…
When I can hardly stand thinking about senior citizens battling a cocktail of fear and loneliness…
When all this craziness boils over in my brain …
I hunt down my walking shoes and head for where the wild things are.
Where the wild things are … nature.
Nature, resolute and unflinching.
Nature, luscious after drowning rain one week … busting with brilliance of color after scorching heat the next … growing peaked when the heat persists too long.
Nature has been a classroom. Early this Spring, My Guy and I spotted two geese flying with a small flock of ducks. Birds of different feathers joining forces. The news these days would have me believing that this can’t be true of animals or of people. Not true on either front.
Nature has been a reminder that powers much bigger than me are at play.
I’m not really a fan of sci-fi, but a high school teacher turned me onto Ray Bradbury, who in turn led me to Sara Teasdale.
I’ve thought of her words often of late …
There Will Come Soft Rains Sara Teasdale, 1920 There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild-plum trees in tremulous white; Robins will wear their feathery fire, Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the war, not one Will care at last when it is done. Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree, If mankind perished utterly; And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone.
When I see wild flowers boastfully fanning themselves just before the sun drops them into darkness …
When birds hop carelessly free among untamed bushes, unworried about anything but the berries they’re about to pluck…
When owls wake up the darkness with the soft wooing…
When nature does what it knows to do …
I’m a little envious.
Envious of the simplicity …
Of the steadfast continuing on whether storm or calm …
Of the inability to seek revenge or hold onto grudges.
Our small town hasn’t escaped the blow of a pandemic or the shaking of racial strife … yet, I feel that it’s all a little gentler here. With the lessons of the wild things, there’s a strong sense of, “We’re all we’ve got … let’s make this work.”
People are not unlike the wildflowers. We strive to bloom. We bend with the winds.
We may be a bit battered by storms but not easily broken.
We may fade and wither under pressure, but even in fading, we can help others to shine … just like this field of wild flowers.
Nature is forgiving.
It seeks revival after storms.
It fights against drought.
It endures its seasons.
It refreshes a weary spirit.
Thank God for nature.
Because of later than normal rainfalls, wildflower season stretched further into summer months this year. Hope these photos gave you a break from the regularly scheduled mayhem, now known as 2020 and let you breathe a little deeper … where the wild things are.
How have you “de-toxed” from the craziness of this year?
2 thoughts on “Where the Wild Things Are”
Too true. This world will go on, with or without us. It is up to us to choose. When the pandemic began, I had great hope that the world population would suddenly get it, but, I am now seeing the same old “me first” attitudes creeping back into humanity. Pity. We only get out of this if we work together. Stay well.
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Thanks for your thoughts! I agree that there is a lot of wonderful possibilities when we work together. Wishing you the best!