Rooted

"Wonder - is not precisely Knowing." Emily Dickinson

I made myself some Vietnamese coffee before going outside to water my plants. I was greeted by the gentle Mourning Dove at the feeder and a bright red wild strawberry growing just off the path. The New Dawn Rose bush had a single delicate bloom on it. Bees were already up and busy. They seem to be enjoying the brightly colored coneflowers. One bee is especially covered in pollen.

I listened to the birdsong and the sound of water spraying from the hose, as well as the construction workers building a new garage for my neighbor. I try to tune them out by focusing on the birds. I hear an Indigo Bunting, an American Goldfinch, some Swifts, a Tufted Titmouse and a Carolina Wren.

After watering my plants, I sit down on the bench with my cup of coffee and my collection of Haiku. Nourish the spirit by tending the garden, delighting in my cup of coffee, and soaking in the simple, profound beauty of the poetry in the same way the soil did the water. These things keep me rooted in a world so uprooted. I pause and reflect on Simone Weil’s words, “To be rooted is perhaps the most important and least recognized need of the human soul.” I try to root myself in beauty, in wonder, in nature, in compassion to combat not only the cynicism of the world but the depression and anxiety in myself.

I order my days in a kind of sacred ritual of habits. In a world that feels out of control, I compose my own small corner of it.