Summer, or the near approximation we are currently experiencing, tends to banish serious thoughts. I go kicking and screaming, wanting to hold on to heavy matters for reasons I can’t fathom once I’ve experienced a couple of brainless days. And so it goes as I bask in the weightlessness of the natural world. Count me in for prayer and lyricism; count me out of politics and abstractions:
Born a poor young country boy--Mother Nature's sonIs there anything so precious as a day rent of ruts, sans the smell of re-use and refuse, of a day clock-stoppingly gorgeous, of a May 10th gratuitously free of mischief, of music that tastes mystical, of bike rides hailed by maple helicopter seeds and effortless as carpet rides? One can scarce take in the flushness of nature after the seasonal depression. There is none of summer’s garishness, nothing but the kiss of gentle paths along translucent lakes and I stop and watch the fish flip their electric blue tailfins. I wonder at my wonder – they are magicians to pierce the hardness.
All day long I'm sitting singing songs for everyone.
Sit beside a mountain stream--see her waters rise
Listen to the pretty sound of music as she flies.
Do do do...
Find me in my field of grass--Mother Nature's son
Swaying daises sing a lazy song beneath the sun.
Do do do... yeah,yeah, yeah
mmm, mmm, ........
Mother Nature's son. --Lennon & McCartney
Putting it on paper is an exercise in stretching a minute at the cost of truth, for the truth is that the beauty can’t be captured. The seers of Medjugorje laughingly refused to describe Heaven because not everything is reducible to words, least of all the Word.
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