When events in distant arenas leave us disappointed in our own kind, we take solace in a closer look. Nature never fails us.
We carry in our pocket a small lens. Looking slows us.
What we see always astounds in geometry and pattern and color, a poetry of form, be it the pistil of a musk mallow, or the hoary face of a cecropia moth.
We are reminded the universe is infinite in both directions, large and small.
We spend the afternoon in the field. We don't go far, each step rich in discovery.
Come evening, we watch the moon rise out of the woods with the dogs dozing at our feet.
We have become better acquainted with the moment.
copyright 2010 J. O'Brien, all rights reserved
