Moments

“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.” Rabindranath Tagore

(An Afternoon Tea by Elena Wuest)

As I made my coffee, I watched a House Sparrow at my kitchen window feeder. Still and silent, I watched this tiny sparrow feeding, Content to observe this moment, I noticed how this small female with its brown wings was marked by black lines on its brown-streaked back. She was a fast, messy eater. Pecking at seeds using her conical beak. I watched her crack them open before eating the dark seeds. I did not move until she flew away.

I gazed out at the morning sunlight coming through the large leaves of the Big-leaf Magnolia tree, a gift from a friend long gone. I think of him when I gaze at the tree, a birthday gift he had given my older son when my son was just a small boy. Beneath that tree, we buried my son’s dog, who was more of a sibling and close companion, as she loved him with such devotion that she stayed at his bedroom window, watching him play outside.

I watched as the sunlight cast shadows on the wall of the garage.

A female Cardinal sat still on a branch as other birds came and went from the feeders. Her stillness matched my own.

We all have a gravitational center of our own private universes. That which grounds us and gives our own lives meaning. As I approach getting another year older, I reevaluate what mine is. It is becoming less and less about owning and more and more about experiencing. I am releasing my grip instead of clutching at certainty. As I write these words, I listen to the sounds of a Cardinal, a Tufted Titmouse and a Carolina Chickadee.

I gaze at the great, grand old oaks in my yard. Tagore’s lines, “Be still, my heart, these great trees are prayers.” I love the feel of their lichen covered bark against the palm of my hand. These trees are universes unto themselves: supporting up to more life-forms - insects, birds, mammals - than any other tree genus. How much life have they lived and seen? What wisdom is hidden in their trunks? They who grasp that one must be rooted to reach toward the heavens.

Last night, in the cool of early evening, I went for a walk. As I walked my dog along the sidewalk of my neighborhood, I stopped and stood in awe. There, before me, was sunlight coming through the red leaves of a Japanese maple. There was in that moment only that moment. I did not want to move on. I wanted to be awash with this beauty that only existed then and there and would not come again in that exact same way. I was awash with the beauty of the world. Nothing else mattered.